


Omnia Vincit Amor

by TazzyJan



Series: Daemones Surge [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamory, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TazzyJan/pseuds/TazzyJan
Summary: Everything leaves a mark, from the tiniest of blemishes to the ugliest of scars.  It is not the mark that matters but rather how we deal with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snow_Glory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Glory/gifts).



_Do not be afraid;_  
 _our fate cannot be taken from us;_  
 _it is a gift_  
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

 

The days back at the Maison slipped by and before d’Artagnan knew it they had been there for two full weeks. Two long, painful weeks where his broken hand was concerned. He was looking forward to the day when Aramis finally deemed it healed enough for a less rigid binding. As it was, brushing out his horse was more of a chore than a pleasure with the dead weight of it dragging him down on that side and leaving him annoyingly off balance.

If he was to be honest with himself, he knew his hand wasn’t really what was making him feel so off balance but rather his brothers. He had hoped that the time spent back here would help them to heal, not just their bodies but their spirits as well. Instead, it had only made the distance between them seem all the greater. And for the life of him, he could not figure out why.

These lands had been a refuge to them after the horrific events of Flamare, sheltering them and bringing them together in a way he had never dreamed possible. The bonds they had forged here had seemed unbreakable. Even Bathory had not been able to sever them no matter how hard she had tried. Yet now, the very bedrock of their family was crumbling beneath their feet. 

He had thought being back here again would help. This house was the birthplace of all that they were. This place was supposed to be their sanctuary. Why was it not working now? Why were they unable to find the solace here that they had before? Why were they moving apart when they needed to be coming together most?

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

“So,” Porthos began as he sat down next to Aramis on the divan. Athos and d’Artagnan were in the kitchen, ensuring them a reasonable amount of privacy for the moment. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Aramis sighed. It was the truth. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to even think about it yet he found his mind returning to that time again and again which meant he was going to have to talk about it if he was ever to find closure.

“Would you rather I get Athos? Or the Whelp?” Porthos asked, thinking he might find it easier to speak to one of them.

“No,” Aramis said quickly, grabbing Porthos’ hand for good measure. “In truth, I would rather talk to you. You know the ups and downs of me more than anyone. Who better to turn to when I am troubled than you?”

“Then talk to me,” Porthos bid him. “And let me try to help you.”

“It’s just memories really,” Aramis said as he picked at his breeches with his free hand, the other one tightening on Porthos’ unconsciously. “I can’t seem to get Flamare out of my head. I’ll be doing, oh, nothing at all really, and then something will remind me of it, of what happened…”

“What did happen?” Porthos asked. “You never told us.”

“It’s not important.”

“It is,” Porthos insisted gently. 

Aramis looked at him, at the concern in his eyes, and looked away. He was right in a way. While not important, he did need to talk about it. “It was just Samael at first, though I am sure the Darkness was there, lurking. He would taunt me while I was being whipped. I never knew what I was being whipped with, but at times it felt like it was rending me to the bone.

“He took so much delight in it. My suffering, that is. He was as gleeful as a child at Christmas. I think it was the morning of the second day when he made the first offer.”

“What kind of offer?” Porthos asked warily.

“To become its vessel. He even offered to let me return to you if I agreed, but I could not. After that the beatings increased but so did the offers. He promised that you would be protected, that you would be safe. Sometimes, it tried to make me think you wouldn’t come for me, but I knew you would.”

“You’re damn right we would. We did,” Porthos avowed, his own hand tightening on Aramis’ and pulling him closer. It was one thing to hear of the pain his brother had suffered, for they had all suffered pain in the past. It was another thing still to hear of the sickly sweet promises the thing had offered. And oh how tempting those promises would have been. For they would have been tempting for any of them. 

“I was scared, Porthos,” Aramis admitted, ducking his head. “I was scared I wasn’t going to be able to hold on. I was scared the Darkness was going to win. Samael, he told me what would happen, the things it would do to me. He said… he said…”

“What did he say?” Porthos encouraged, knowing Aramis needed to get this out.

“He said he would make Athos his whore,” Aramis whispered brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut at the memory. “That he would enslave him and together they would… they would come after you and d’Artagnan and once you were dead they would hunt down everyone I ever knew. He said he was going to make Athos his plaything if I didn’t give in.”

“Hey now, that didn’t happen,” Porthos soothed, pulling Aramis into his arms fully. “Athos is fine. We’re all fine. You’re safe now, ‘Mis.”

“I know,” Aramis said weakly as he clung to Porthos. He rested there for long minutes, listening to the beat of his brother’s heart beneath his ear. Finally, he continued. “When Samael could not turn me, the Darkness finally came for me itself. I could feel it wrapping itself around me, coiling around my soul. It offered to make it all go away, the pain, the fear. It promised long and happy lives for all of you if I just gave it what it wanted. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give in. I’m sorry.”

“What in the world are you sorry for?” Porthos asked, frowning deeply.

“You and the others, you would have been protected, been safe and happy if I…”

“Stop right there,” Porthos said. He took Aramis by the shoulders and pushed him back until he could look him in the face. “I don’t want a long and happy life, Aramis. I just want you.”

Aramis could see the conviction in his eyes and felt something in his heart ease. He pushed forward and once more wrapped his arms around the other man. “I love you so much, Porthos. The things it threatened to do to you, to make Athos do to you… I was so scared.”

“Shh. It’s alright. It didn’t happen. We’re safe now. All of us. We’re safe and together just like we belong.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

When Athos and d’Artagnan came in from the kitchen they found Porthos and Aramis wrapped around each other on the divan. Both men paused in the doorway not wanting to interrupt the pair. They saw Aramis look at them from the vicinity of Porthos’ chest, blinking at them owlishly.

“Should we perhaps adjourn to another room?” Athos asked, not wanting to intrude. 

“No,” Aramis said, sitting up slightly though he stayed pressed against Porthos’ side, one of the man’s big arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Are you sure?” d’Artagnan asked, smiling softly. “We don’t mind giving you your privacy. We do not always have to be right on top of one another.”

“I know,” Aramis said, smiling back. “But we want you here.”

“He’s right,” Porthos put in. “Besides, isn’t it about time these stitches came out?”

Aramis stiffened against Porthos’ side, his eyes widening. He looked back and forth between his brothers and saw that they were all looking at him as if waiting for his agreement. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“It’s alright if you want to wait,” d’Artagnan offered, not having missed the wild look that had come over his brother.

“He is right,” Athos added hoping to calm him. “Another day or two will not make a difference one way or the other if you need time to prepare.”

Aramis looked at his brothers again and felt tears sting his eyes. They were being so careful with him, not pushing, giving him time and letting him decide for himself what he was ready for. That, more than anything, made the decision for him.

“No,” he said, his voice still a bit strangled. “I want to do it now. I’m ready.”

“Then perhaps the kitchen would be more suited,” Athos suggested. 

Once there, they quickly laid out the few items they would need while Aramis took off his shirt and sat upon the kitchen table. Since d’Artagnan’s hand was still out of commission, the task once again fell to Athos. Even before he started he could tell that the brand looked different. Keeping his observations to himself, he began with the back, making quick work of those before returning once more to the front.

“Try to hold still,” Athos said when Aramis kept trying to look down at what he was doing as he carefully cut away the thread that had bound the wound closed. Once cut, he pulled the thread free as gently as he could then washed and dried the area thoroughly before taking a step back and allowing Aramis to see.

“It’s gone,” Aramis said in disbelief. “Her mark… it’s completely gone.”

“So it would seem,” Athos said with a nod. He was right. It was gone. All that was left was the brand of their crest and the scar that now ran through the center of it. 

“I can’t believe… How…?” Aramis stammered his eyes going to Athos.

“I can only surmise that the link the Darkness established was with the Bathory crest and that when it was broken the crest itself was destroyed as well,” Athos said. Ever since the possibility had arisen, it was the only explanation he had been able to come up with.

“Aramis? Are you alright?” Porthos asked. His brother looked stunned. He could not blame him. Even knowing of the possibility he had not been prepared for the totality of it.

“No,” Aramis shook his head. “No. I do not understand.”

“Maybe it is God’s gift to you,” d’Artagnan suggested. “His reward for all you have endured.”

“Do you believe that?” Aramis asked him.

“It’s as good a reason as any other,” d’Artagnan shrugged.

“I just…”

“Just what?” Athos asked, sensing that something was bothering his brother about all of this.

“What if I had never had you brand me?” Aramis asked, the words coming out soft and pained. “Wouldn’t we have noticed the link much sooner? Is all of this pain and suffering my fault, because I was too prideful to wear her mark?”

“No,” Athos said firmly. “If the mark had started to glow beneath the brand we would have seen it. That did not happen until Flamare. The Darkness would never have been so reckless as to shine a bloody light on itself like that and you know it.”

“Fine,” Aramis conceded. “Then what about what I put you all through? Those brandings were Hell on d’Artagnan and now they were for nothing.”

“They were for you,” d’Artagnan said unable to fathom how Aramis could be thinking of him at a time like this. What did it matter if it turned out now that the branding was unnecessary? It had been very necessary at the time and that was why he had gone through with it. “That will never be for nothing.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

It took some time to calm Aramis again after that. He insisted on leaving his shirt off. He wanted to be able to look at the brand on his shoulder, to make sure that Bathory’s mark was well and truly gone from him. Every time he looked at it, he felt his heart squeeze at the sight of his brothers’ mark with only the scar from Athos’ blade now marring it. 

“How’s your hand coming along?” Athos asked d’Artagnan as they settled about the sitting room once more. Of them, he was the only one besides Aramis that bore any lasting injury.

“It’s healing, though not nearly quick enough. Another week or so and it should be ready for a softer binding,” d’Artagnan replied. 

“No pain or swelling?” Athos asked. Normally, Aramis would be the one to see to such things but their brother had not been up to the task as of yet and Athos did not want to put that responsibility back on him. He would pick up the mantel again when he felt ready. Until them, Athos would continue to bear it.

“No, mother,” d’Artagnan groused. “It’s fine.”

“Long as he doesn’t go trying to use it,” Porthos put in remembering the incident in the barn with Athos’ saddlebags.

Athos didn’t reply, merely arching an eyebrow at him. It was enough to make him blush and d’Artagnan turned his head and stuck his tongue out at Porthos making the other man laugh out loud. 

“What about you, Aramis?” Athos asked cautiously drawing his attention away from the brand for a moment. “Any pain other than the shoulder still?” Athos knew this was a somewhat touchy subject. Their brother’s back was fine. They knew it. He knew it. Yet it still pained him, sometimes terribly so. As yet, they were unsure what to make of it.

“I have not lost my mind yet, dear Athos,” Aramis quipped forcing a smile. He knew his brother meant no insult. “Even if my back does still pain me from time to time.”

“No one is suggesting that, brother,” Athos told him sincerely. “We have no way to know what was actually done to you and that gives us cause for worry.”

“Do not worry yourselves over me,” Aramis replied. “I am fine. Or as close to it as makes no difference. Yes, my back still pains me but I fear that is nothing more than shadows in my mind that refuse to settle. Given time, they will. Even now, the time between spells grows further apart.”

“You would tell us if it were not so, wouldn’t you?” Athos asked outright.

“I would,” Aramis replied. “I would not keep such a thing from you. It could end up endangering you and I will not do that.”

“If it keeps up, perhaps we could have Michel out for a visit,” Athos suggested. “Maybe he might have some insight into it.”

“Perhaps,” Aramis agreed. “But let’s give it time first. As I said, the frequency grows less every day. Perhaps my mind just needs more time to heal.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

That night, Athos and d’Artagnan retired to their room leaving Porthos and Aramis together. While Athos longed to be with him after the events of he day, he did not think Aramis ready to share a bed with all of them yet and he knew he needed Porthos more. 

In the end, Porthos and Aramis ended up in the main room. Porthos had considered asking Aramis if he wanted to be alone but found himself unable to. He was wholly unwilling to let Aramis spend the night on his own, not after the day he’d had. In truth, he couldn’t bear to be away from his side. The revelation of the brand had left them all off balance, uncertain as to what it might mean for Aramis or any of them. 

As he lay in bed, Aramis curled against his side, Porthos thought about what d’Artagnan had said. A gift from God, he’d called it. He wasn’t sure if he believed that. He wasn’t sure he could. It seemed cruel to him and almost petty in a way to make Aramis, and d’Artagnan as well, endure so much in regards to Bathory’s mark only to wipe it away in the blink of an eye. He knew Aramis would never see it that way, though. His brother would call it a lesson or some sort of trial he was meant to bear. That, too, was utter hogwash as far as he was concerned. His brother had _endured_ quite enough and he would tell that to God himself if he had to.

As Porthos let his mind wander, Aramis settled in against him, his head resting on his shoulder. It felt good. Lying in Porthos’ arms had always made him feel safe and loved even before they had crossed the line from brothers to lovers. He was glad they could share that once more. For as unsettled as today’s revelation had left him, the feel of Porthos lying solid beneath him eased him greatly and gave him the courage to face this new challenge.

Lying there, Aramis let the revelation wash over him again. It was gone. That bitch’s hated mark was gone! He was finally, finally free of her and the evil she had tried so very hard to infect him with. His brothers had done the best they could to rid him of it but he had still known it was there, underneath, lurking in the way that evil always is. 

But not anymore. 

God had seen to that. God had guided his Athos’ hand and eradicated that hateful mark forever. And while the others might not see it that way, he knew it was true. He had held on and God had rewarded him for his faith. He only wished it did not have to hurt his brothers so. He had not missed the flicker of despair in Athos’ eyes when the brand had been revealed. For while everyone else saw the lack of the brand, Athos saw the raw, red wound of his blade. If this was meant to be a reward for Aramis then what was God’s intention for Athos? Was God yet again tempering his faith? And if so, for what?

Even more than he hated the affect this had on Athos, he hated what d’Artagnan had suffered a thousand times more. He would like to think that, had he known in the end that he would one day be free of her mark, he would have never allowed d’Artagnan to go through with the branding but he knew himself better than that. He would not have been able to live with it. Its very presence had been eating him alive, rotting his very soul. Even knowing it was temporary would not have been enough. He would have still gone through with it, still watched his Master suffer as he had, just to be free of it.

As he thought about the brand and Athos and d’Artagnan, he couldn’t help but think about the scar that now ran through the center of it. It was the only thing that marred their mark upon him and he found himself frowning at the thought of it. Their mark should not be tarnished. It should not be damaged or spoiled. It should stand out for all to see so that they would know exactly who he belonged to. But for that, he would need to have his brothers brand him again and he could never ask such a thing of them. Not after everything they had gone through. Had he not just lamented of having needlessly put his Master through such an ordeal in the first place? How could he even consider doing such a thing again? No, he would be grateful for what he had and look at Athos’ mark as a reminder of all that was nearly lost.

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

When Aramis awoke he was surprised to find himself still resting atop Porthos’ chest. It would seem neither of them moved during the night. He wasn’t sure if it was because they were too tired, too comfortable, or because Porthos simply didn’t want to try to lever his dead weight off of him. Either way, Aramis didn’t mind. Waking like this was something he had missed as well. 

“’Bout time you woke up,” Porthos said, his chest rumbling with the words.

“I guess I was simply too comfortable,” Aramis grinned then leaned up and pecked him quickly on the lips. He wanted to do more but knew that was as far as Porthos was currently comfortable with. For all that he was the one that had needed time to get past things, his brother was the one that was scared now.

“We, uh, we should get up,” Porthos said, a bit flustered.

“I suppose breakfast is not going to cook itself,” Aramis replied.

“You’re going to let me help you, right?” Porthos asked pointedly as they slowly rose and began dressing.

“Yes,” Aramis nodded. He knew his continued insistence on cooking bothered his brothers and he was trying to stop. Allowing Porthos to help him with it was at least a step in the right direction.

Once in the kitchen, they fell into an easy routine. Even for a manor house the kitchen wasn’t overly large and they were both big men so they could not help but brush against one another as they moved about. Neither man batted an eye as their shoulders pressed together or a hand brushed along a hip inadvertently. If anything, the casual, easy touches were calming as they reinforced the intrinsic trust between them.

When Athos and d’Artagnan entered the kitchen they simply watched the pair for a moment. It eased them to see them working so flawlessly together without the worries they had carried with them for so long. It was almost enough to make them back out of the kitchen and leave the pair alone if not for the fact that Athos was fairly certain at least one of them had heard them come in.

“Are we interrupting?” Athos asked, smiling softly as this brothers.

“Not at all,” Aramis grinned back as he began to lay out breakfast on the table.

Breakfast turned out to be more amicable than usual and Athos chalked it up to the earlier scene they had walked in on. Thinking they might benefit from a little more time alone, he excused himself to take a ride around the grounds. D’Artagnan quickly followed leaving Aramis and Porthos to once more do as they would. 

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

“Anywhere in particular you wanted to go?” d’Artagnan asked as they saddled their horses.

“Just thought I’d check the grounds,” Athos replied. “Make sure nothing looks amiss. You may want to bring your heavy gloves, though. Just in case.”

They rode along quietly until they ended up at Aramis’ Glade. D’Artagnan didn’t think Athos was even conscious that he was leading them there. He was surprised at how overgrown the place was. It had always had a wild appearance but it had never been this bad. 

“We haven’t been here in a while,” Athos explained as if answering his silent question. “I haven’t been able to keep it cleared out.”

“You do this?” d’Artagnan asked as they dismounted. “You clear it out for him?”

“Have to or the land will retake it,” Athos shrugged. “The first time I found it, a tree had fallen. It had done most of the clearing out for me. Once I removed it, the natural shape of the place was easy to define. After that, it was just a matter of keeping the brush and bramble cut back from it.”

“Does Aramis know that you do all of this?” d’Artagnan donned his heavy gloves, knowing now why Athos told him to bring them, and began pulling up the vines that had started to encroach.

“I’ve no idea,” Athos said as he worked. “I doubt it. He’s never been out here when I’ve been doing it. Porthos either. Until today, nobody had.”

“So why do it? Why not just let the place grow up? Or let Aramis take care of it? It’s his Glade after all,” d’Artagnan asked.

“I’m the one that gave it to him. If you want to call it that. He finds it peaceful out here. I don’t mind doing a little work if it helps him find some measure of peace.”

“Yeah, alright. Well ask for some help next time,” d’Artagnan told him. Like Athos, he was more than willing to help keep the place cleared out for Aramis. They worked in silence for a while after that, clearing away the brush and debris until the Glade was once more as they had left it. 

Finally finished, Athos sat down on a fallen log that made for a natural bench. He tugged off his thick gloves and tucked them into his belt. He was grateful for d’Artagnan’s presence today. He would have been sore and aching if he’d had to clear the place out on his own. 

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you now?” d’Artagnan asked as he sat down beside him. He had hoped Athos might bring it up himself but it did not look like that was going to happen. 

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Athos said dismissively.

“Care to try that one again? You’re pensive. Unlike me, you only get that way when something is truly bothering you.”

Athos regarded him for a moment then slid down onto the ground so that his back was against the fallen tree. He watched from the corner of his eye as d’Artagnan did likewise and sighed. Perhaps, of all of them, d’Artagnan would understand. 

“Have you ever wondered how you got here?” he mused.

“How do you mean?” d’Artagnan asked, his forehead creasing in confusion.

“Like how you, of all people, suddenly became worthy of all of this,” Athos explained, waving his arms about. “And by you I do mean me.”

D’Artagnan snorted a laugh and eyed the other man. “Athos, I wonder that very thing every day. How some farmer’s son like me ended up here with all of you. But I don’t understand why you would think such a thing.”

“Worth,” Athos reflected. “What is a man truly worth? When I was a boy, I thought my title and wealth determined my worth. When I became a Musketeer, I thought it was my rank and my honor. But it isn’t any of those things. It never was. It is what is inside of you that denotes your true worth.”

“Then you are indeed the worthiest of men,” d’Artagnan told him.

“And that, my dear young friend, is where you are wrong. I have looked inside of myself these last days. Do you know what I see?”

“What?” D’Artagnan asked reluctantly, instinctively knowing he was not going to like the answer.

“Nothing,” Athos replied. “A gaping black pit of nothing. So I ask myself how can I possibly be worthy of all this?”

D’Artagnan stared at his brother, aghast. Nothing? How could Athos look inside of himself and see nothing? Surely that was not possible. Not when he looked inside of him and saw so very much. He started to reach for him but Athos rolled up and to his feet before he could. 

“We should be heading back,” Athos said, his back to d’Artagnan.

“Athos...”

“Are you coming?”

When they finally returned to the house, they found Aramis and Porthos sitting snuggled together on the divan. It was cozy, like the scene they had walked in on that morning and it made both men pause. D’Artagnan knew there would be no talking to Aramis that night. He looked entirely too happy for him to do anything that might disturb it. He would see to Athos tonight and make it a point to talk to Aramis come the morning. 

“You two have a good ride?” Porthos asked when he saw them paused in the doorway.

“Yes,” Athos said before d’Artagnan could say anything about the Glade. “Everything looks in order.”

“Good. We were starting to wonder if we should come after you.”

“Sorry. I guess we lost track of time.”

“In a good way, I hope,” Aramis put in.

“Just talking,” Athos replied. 

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

It was later that afternoon as they lounged in the library when Aramis glanced at Porthos, that simple look enough to convey his desire. At the man’s understanding nod, he moved up next to Athos. “Athos,” Aramis asked, “would you mind taking a ride with me to the Glade?”

“Not at all,” Athos replied automatically. He would go anywhere Aramis asked him to, of course, but he was unsure why he was asking him rather than Porthos or d’Artagnan. He did not voice his question, though, merely going along with Aramis as he asked. 

The ride, as always, was a quick one. Aramis beamed when he broke into the small clearing. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, as awe-struck by the place as he’d been the first time he’d seen it. “It looks exactly as it did. Like nothing has changed.”

Athos couldn’t help but smile to himself at his words. It might have changed while they were gone but it was nothing that a few hours of sweat could not restore. And if it put that look on Aramis’ face then it was well worth the effort. 

Leaving their horses to graze, they moved over to the fallen tree and sat down. After a few minutes, Athos began to grow nervous, unsure why Aramis had asked him there. Did whatever he wanted to tell him require this much privacy? Or did he think he might need the succor of the Glade after whatever it was?

Aramis, always attuned to his brothers, could feel the nervousness coming off of Athos in waves. Reaching out, he took Athos’ hands in his own and held them tight. “It is alright,” he said, unable not to respond to his brother’s fear. 

“What did you wish to speak with me about?” Athos asked, fortune favored the bold after all.

“Always so brave, my Athos,” Aramis smiled. “We never really got to have our talk. The one we promised each other in the garrison.”

“Are you sure you still want to?” Athos asked.

“I do not believe this rift between us will ever truly heal if we do not,” Aramis replied. “Oh it will eventually, as all wounds do, but the scar left behind will be quite unsightly. The kind that aches in bad weather and makes you shudder every time your eyes fall upon it.”

“And you think speaking of this now will help?”

“Yes,” Aramis said firmly. “It will lance the pus from the wound and let it close as it should. Not gape open dripping yet more foulness upon us.”

“Then speak and I will listen to you,” Athos agreed trying hard not to show his reluctance. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Aramis. It was rather that he was not sure he could stand yet more heaped upon him right now. But he owed his brother this and it was a debt long past due.

For a while they fell silent. Aramis thought over his words carefully, taking in his brother’s state. Something was troubling Athos greatly and he was unsure what it was. He was tempted to stop, to put this off for another time but it had been put off for far too long already. If they did not have this out now they might never and he truly feared for them if they did not.

“At the Maison, when I lashed out at you so horribly, I was angry,” Aramis slowly began. “I was angry at your treatment of me. I realize I was a bit compromised but that did not give you the right to disregard my wishes as if they were nothing. You treated me as if I did not matter. As if… as if I were a thing to be played with then set on a shelf _out of the way_. You treated me like I was broken. Like I was once more unable to decide my own fate.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Athos defended, jerking to his feet. “That was never my intent. Never! I was trying to keep you safe.”

“That did not give you the right to disregard my wishes,” Aramis argued. “Am I allowed to blithely do whatever I want in the name of keeping you safe?” 

“We almost lost you,” Athos cried out miserably. “More times than I could count. Do you not know how terrified I was when Champney drug you into that room in chains? Do you? It felt like my heart had stopped. But it was even worse when you killed them. I thought of simply confessing but I knew Treville would never believe me no matter how great the provocation. 

“I never meant to let d’Artagnan take the blame. I know how much he means to you. I would never willfully put your Master in harm’s way. I don’t know why I did it. But once it was done it was too late to take it back, not without implicating you and that was something none of us were willing to do.”

Spent, Athos sagged, his legs giving out as he dropped to his knees. All he had wanted to do was protect him. All he had wanted to do was keep him safe. Yet in the end, all he had done was hurt and alienate him to the point where he could barely stand to look at him. 

Heal this rift? There was no healing this rift. He had torn the very fabric of them apart with his bare hands. The only reason he was still here at all was because of the threat of the Darkness. Now that that was finally gone, he was no longer needed. Pushing himself to his feet, Athos took a staggering step forward. It was time he did what he should have done days ago.

Aramis sat stunned as watched the realization of his actions bring Athos to his knees. That had never been his intent. He had only meant to make him understand why he had been so angry and had lashed out at him as he had. He had not meant to reopen wounds that he saw now had barely even begun to heal. And now, as he watched Athos struggle to rise, he thought he might understand where he had been coming from. Too many close calls with him at the center of them had caused Athos to go into a sort of lock down mode. It had nothing to do with Aramis’ own ability and everything to do with the unrelenting threats that besieged them from all sides. 

Looking between them, Aramis felt like the distance, both physical and emotional, had never been wider. This was the very thing he was trying to bridge and he had only made it worse. Rising, he called out to Athos, his hand reaching for him without thought but Athos backed away from his, his eyes wide and panicked. 

“We… we should head back,” Athos said, his eyes cutting to where the horses grazed languidly.

“Please,” Aramis implored as Athos stared at him, unsure what to do. “Please don’t walk away from me. I drove you from me once with my heartless words. I could not bear to do so again.”

“Not your fault,” Athos managed, his throat almost refusing to give up the words.

“I love you, Athos. More than… more than I ever thought I could love another person. I think I understand now what drove you to act as you did.”

Slowly, Aramis began to advance on the other man until he could pull him, unresisting, into his arms. “Fear,” he continued. “It can make a man do things he never thought he would. It can make him treat a lover with almost callous disregard when in actuality he is only trying to keep him safe. What kind of man would I be to be angry at you when all you ever wanted to do was protect me?” 

“And yet the scar on your shoulder gives testament to how good I was at that,” Athos replied, the derision in his voice clear.

“Yes, it does,” Aramis told him. “You saved me. You did that. Not my soulmate. Not my Master. You. The love of my life. You.”

As he held him, Aramis was starting to grow worried. Athos had yet to truly respond. Aramis had told him he didn’t blame him, that he loved him and finally understood, yet Athos had not said anything in return. Had he waited too long after all? Was the distance between them simply too great? 

_Please, it could not have come to this. Not to this,_ Aramis silently prayed. Athos was his… To lose… All at once, Aramis began to shake as the horrible possibility took shape in his mind. To Aramis, to lose Athos would be tantamount to losing everything. He was at the center of it all. Everything they had, all of it, had been built upon Athos’ courage. 

“Aramis? What is it?” Athos asked as he felt him start to shake around him. 

“Is it too late?” Aramis asked, his voice strangled. He held Athos tightly as if afraid he might suddenly disappear if he let go.

“Too late? Too late for what?” Athos asked confused.

“Too late for us?” Aramis replied in a pained whisper.

“Do you still wish there to be an us?” Athos forced himself to ask, not at all sure he could stand to hear the answer but needing to nonetheless.

Aramis had to close his eyes against the pain that simple question evoked. “There will never be a day I do not want that, that I do not want you,” he replied. “You are the love of my life, Athos. But I will understand if I am no longer yours. If I have learned one thing from all of this, it is that a man will only be pushed away for so long before he simply goes.”

“You think…?” Athos said, aghast. “Aramis, no. I will never leave you. You may keep me at arm’s length forever and I will still be here. Still by your side. Still protecting you. I thought…”

“What?”

“I thought you did not want that… with me. Not any longer,” Athos replied. “I do not blame you. After all I have done, all I allowed to be done, why would you?”

“Because you are the love of my life,” Aramis told him again. “I love you. With every breath I take, I love you. The question, however, is do you still love me?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you still love me?” Aramis repeated. “I have told you I love you many times here today. Yet you have not said it once. Nor have you called me anything save Aramis or brother. I may be an optimistic man but I am not a stupid one.”

“Of course I love you!” Athos said much louder than he’d intended. “I love you so much it feels like it will tear me apart sometimes. And yet… and yet it feels like I have done nothing but sully that love. I have tarnished it, blackened it with Samael’s taint. I have no right…”

“You have every right! Samael is gone. Dead and gone by your own hand. Stop letting him win, damn you!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Athos gasped as he buried his face into the side of Aramis’ neck. “I love you so much. I thought I’d lost you forever. You are everything to me. To have to go on without you, I did not know how…”

“Shh. It’s alright,” Aramis said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “It’s alright now. I’m right here. I have you. I love you, too. I love you, too, Athos. My Athos.”

“Yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” Porthos asked as he and d’Artagnan watched the others ride off through the back door. 

“Nothing really,” d’Artagnan replied then sighed. “I just feel so helpless.”

“Helpless?” Porthos repeated. Helpless was not a word he would ever think to associate with their Whelp. Even when he had been at the mercy of that fiend, Gaspar, Porthos would not have called him helpless.

“Watching all of you struggle like this,” he tried to explain as they came back into the kitchen and sat down. “Especially Athos. He’s still under so much pressure. I’m not sure how much more he can take without collapsing under the weight of it all.”

“I’m worried about him, too, Whelp,” Porthos admitted. “But Athos has to find his own way in this. He has to find a way to forgive himself and let go of this guilt and pain and fear he’s wrapped himself up in. Until he can find a way to do that, he can’t move forward.”

“Yeah. Problem is, I don’t think he knows how.”

“That’s what he’s got us for,” Porthos said. “We’ll help him. As best we can anyway. He may have to do it himself but that doesn’t mean he has to do it alone.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

Porthos and d’Artagnan were still in the kitchen when the pair returned to the house. The sun had just started to set casting a faint red glow about the room. “Why don’t you two wash up while I put dinner on?” d’Artagnan chanced. He saw Aramis stiffen and Athos’ arm slip round his shoulders.

“That, ah, that sounds alright,” Aramis replied, licking his lips. “Are you certain? I mean…”

“I’ll help him,” Porthos put in quickly.

“Well, alright then,” Aramis subsided relaxing as best he could and allowing Athos to gently pull him toward the bathing room.

“That went better than I expected,” Porthos said as they rose.

“Agreed. I think whatever went on between him and Athos, he is reluctant to part from him just yet.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Porthos said quickly. The Whelp was worried enough about them all as it was. They didn’t need to go adding to it. 

“Even if it is, Aramis will see to him,” d’Artagnan said confidently. D’Artagnan knew from his own experience that no matter the rift between them Aramis would still take care of his brothers. He had certainly tended to him when he could barely stand to look upon him. He had no doubt that he would see to Athos’ well-being now.

Dinner was a quieter affair than they had grown used to of late, though not overly somber. Athos was somewhat subdued but Aramis determinedly drew him out time and again, all but forcing him to interact with them. Athos endured his attempts with good humor, doing his best to join in, though it was a struggle for him as his mind lay elsewhere making Aramis wonder if he had not somehow left part of himself back in the Glade.

Once their meal as over, Aramis caught Porthos’ eye and drew him aside. “Would you mind terribly if I spent the night with Athos tonight?” he asked, his voice surprisingly tentative.

“Of course not, love,” Porthos answered, taken aback by the shyness in Aramis’ voice. “I know he needs you right now. And even if he didn’t, you don’t need my permission to be with him.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said then leaned up and pressed a fleeting kiss to Porthos’ lips before quickly turning away.

In the sitting room he found Athos on the divan with d’Artagnan. Approaching the pair, he held out his hand to Athos. “Do you feel up to joining me tonight?” he asked, leaving the final decision to Athos. He did not think his brother would refuse him but it had been a trying day for him.

“Are you sure?” Athos asked, surprised.

“Very,” Aramis smiled.

Hoping he appeared more confident than he felt, Athos took Aramis’ hand and let himself be led from the room. It wasn’t that he did not want to be with his brother, he simply did not feel worthy of it. He should be spending this time rebuilding his bond with Porthos or even that of is Master. Not him. 

Aramis said noting until they were inside the bedroom with the door firmly closed behind them. “I can hear your mind working,” he said as he pressed Athos back against the door. “What is weighing you down so heavily, my love? Tell me.”

“It is nothing, Aramis,” Athos tried, making as if to move but Aramis blocked him, refusing to let him move away. 

“It is not,” he said gently. “Whatever it is, it is troubling you greatly. I would help with that if you would let me. I know I have not been much of a brother to you of late, but…”

“Aramis, no!” Athos exclaimed, taking his brother by the arms and holding him. “It is not you. You have done no wrong. And you have been there for me. Whenever you saw me struggling, saw me faltering, you were there.”

“Then let me be there for you now,” Aramis beseeched. 

Athos looked into his lover’s eyes for long seconds then slowly pulled him into an embrace. He let his head come to rest on his good shoulder and shuddered as he breathed in the scent of him. He couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms a bit tighter as his senses were filled with the other man and he moaned softly. 

“That’s it,” Aramis cooed into his ear as he held him. “I’m right here. Safe and sound. Well, reasonably sound. That one’s always been a bit questionable.”

Athos chuffed out a laugh, the man’s words quelling the rising panic within him. Still, he did not let go. He couldn’t. Not yet. This time had been too close by far and Athos was ready to pack the lot of them up and take them away from Paris for good.

“What?” Aramis asked again.

“If I thought you would do it, I would take you all away from here. Away from the Musketeers, from Paris, from all of France even.”

“And where would you take us to?” Aramis asked, drawing back in surprise.

“Someplace… someplace else. Someplace far from here. Someplace safe,” Athos replied, blushing hotly. He did not care if his words made him sound like a coward. He would turn tail and run if it meant his brothers were finally safe.

“Oh, Athos,” Aramis sighed and pulled Athos back against him. “I understand how very much you want to keep us safe. I do. And yet you cannot. Not truly. We are not men meant to live lives of comfort and ease. We are men meant to protect others. Men such as us, we will never have safe lives. Our safety comes from our brothers and the knowledge that they will protect us and, if necessary, avenge us.”

“It was so close this time,” Athos whispered.

“I know. I felt Death’s brush as well, but it did not win. We defeated it. Do you know how?” When Athos shook his head, he answered. “By standing firm. By sticking together and fighting for one another. If Death wanted one of us it was going to have to take us all and we were stronger than that.”

“I love you,” Athos said as he leaned up and kissed Aramis gently. “I just wish… You deserve…”

“What? What do I deserve?” Aramis asked as Athos continued to pepper light kisses all around his mouth.

“Everything,” Athos moaned as he finally covered Aramis’ mouth and kissed him hungrily.

Aramis responded with a passion of his own, kissing him back eagerly. The feel of Athos’ strong arms tightening around him only drove his passion higher. They had been at odds for what felt like forever and to finally be back in his arms made him want to weep with joy. 

They kissed until they were breathless. Breathless and panting into each other’s mouths. Athos couldn’t stop himself from placing feather light kisses against Aramis’ lips and cheeks and eyes as they both struggled to regain their composure. 

“I want you,” Aramis moaned when Athos placed a fleeting kiss to the side of his neck.

“You have me,” Athos replied repeating the gesture and causing Aramis to shiver. 

“Bed,” Aramis choked out needing to feel Athos without any barriers between them.

“As you wish,” Athos said then took Aramis’ mouth again. As he kissed him, he began backing them toward the bed, not stopping until Aramis’ legs bumped against it. He stopped then and let his hands come around to the buttons of Aramis’ breeches. He continued to kiss him as he worked them open, pushing them wide and pulling his shirt free before finally pulling away.

Without a word, he immediately began working on the cuffs of Aramis’ shirt, untying them deftly then quickly pulling the garment over his head and off. With Aramis now down to just his breeches, Athos sank to his knees and began dragging them down, determined to bare his lover.

Aramis stood dazed as Athos went about undressing him with a single-mindedness he had never shown before. Normally, Athos took his time, slowly divesting him of his clothes piece by piece. Not this time. This time he acted as if he could not get him free of them fast enough. It was such a change from what he expected that it left Aramis reeling at first as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening. 

Once Aramis was naked, Athos sat back on his heels and stared up at the man. His lover was flushed all the way down his chest and his cock was half hard and growing between his legs. Athos had to fight the urge to lean forward and take him into his mouth. He could tell that his aggressiveness had left Aramis a touch off balance and wanted to give him time to steady himself before doing anything else.

“You now,” Aramis said as he reached out and stroked along Athos’ jaw, his fingers carding through his short beard. He felt Athos give a shudder under his hand then he was turning his head and kissing his palm before pushing himself to his feet.

Athos made just as quick of work of his clothing as he had of Aramis’ and soon stood naked beside him. Before Aramis could say anything, he pulled him into another kiss moaning at the feel of their naked bodies pressing together. 

“Bed,” Aramis said again as he tore his mouth away. He wasn’t sure how much longer his legs were going to hold him, not with Athos in his arms, willing and wanting him. 

“Tell me what you want,” Athos said as he maneuvered them onto the bed, his side pressed all along Aramis’ as if desperate for the contact.

“I want to suck you,” Aramis said softly, blushing hotly as he did so. They had tried this once before with less than stellar results. He was hoping enough time had passed that they might try it again.

“Are you certain?” Athos asked, his eyes softening as he took in the blush staining his lover’s cheeks. “We don’t have to do that. We can do, well, anything you want to. All you have to do is name it and it is yours.”

“This is what I want,” Aramis told him. “I want to try at least. I know the last time…”

“That doesn’t matter,” Athos said, leaning forward and ghosting his lips against Aramis’. “Nothing matters but here and now.”

“I love you,” Aramis whispered into his mouth. “So much.”

Athos closed his eyes at Aramis’ words, letting them fall over him like a soothing blanket. “You are everything to me,” he said. “Nothing else matters without you.” Athos kissed him again then, pressing his tongue into his mouth and tasting him deeply. He felt Aramis melt against him and pulled him flush. He loved this man so much. He only wished he could somehow be worthy of him. But that was a worry for another time. Right now, all that mattered was that Aramis was in his arms kissing him as if his life depended on it.

They kissed for long minutes, until they had both grown hard and aching. Finally, Aramis pushed Athos over onto his back and moved on top of him. He saw his green eyes darken with desire and swooped down to steal his lips in a kiss once more. When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavy as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“How do you want me?” Athos asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Just like this,” Aramis replied. He thought like this, with Athos on his back, he would feel more in control. He also knew the feel of Athos all around him, surrounding him and grounding him, would help as well. 

With a last kiss to Athos’ lips, Aramis began to slowly inch is way down his lover’s body. He kissed and sucked as he went, moaning aloud at the taste of him. He had missed this taste, this heady combination of sweat and musk that was pure Athos. 

When at last he made it to Athos’ navel, he felt his lover’s cock give a jerk and grinned. He took his time there, kissing and nibbling all around it, letting his beard brush against the delicate skin below it, until Athos was all but writhing beneath him. 

“Please,” Athos begged, unable to hold back any longer. Aramis was torturing him so sweetly, it made his heart swell as much as it did his cock. 

“Anything for you, my love,” Aramis said as he slid down the rest of the way between Athos’ spread legs. He paused for a moment and took a breath before taking hold of the other man’s hard cock. Holding it up, he licked a wide, wet stripe up the length of it, making his lover cry out and buck his hips. 

“Easy, love,” Aramis said as he pushed his hips back down with his free hand. Leaning up, he began to lick all around the head, lapping up the sticky fluid that had begun to leak out. The taste of it, so strong and sharp, was jarring at first but Aramis did not stop, continuing to lick all around the head as more and more fluid ran out.

“Aramis...” Athos gasped, his lover’s wicked tongue nearly driving him insane. He wanted so badly to be buried in the wet heat of Aramis’ mouth but he did not push, knowing Aramis had to set the pace in this.

“You taste so good,” Aramis whispered as he pulled back. He looked up Athos’ body at his lover and was surprised at how affected he was. He had not expected him to react so strongly to so simple a touch from him.

Knowing it was now or never, and that Athos would not hold it against him if he simply could not yet, he opened his mouth and slowly took the head of his cock inside. He stopped at the head, wrapping his lips around it and simply holding it in his mouth for long seconds. The weight of it on his tongue was at once familiar and combined with the overpowering taste of Athos, it pushed all other memories aside. Slowly, Aramis began inching his way down Athos’ cock, sucking and laving as he went. Before he even realized it, he was bobbing his head.

Athos held his breath as Aramis slowly took him into his mouth. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out at the feel of it. Aramis’ mouth felt like an inferno and it was taking everything he had not to thrust up into it. When his lover finally started to move, he nearly sobbed and fisted his hands in the sheets to keep from reaching for him.

Aramis was concentrating so hard on what he was doing that he didn’t notice when Athos’ cock began to swell. He was only taking it about half way into his mouth, not wanting to chance choking himself. As it was, he was all but lost to what he was doing, relishing the feel of Athos’ hardness in his mouth.

All too soon, Athos felt his release start to build within him. He didn’t want to spend. He didn’t want this to end but he knew it must. “Aramis... Aramis... I’m close,” Athos warned.

Aramis moaned around Athos’ cock and began moving his head faster, eager to taste his lover’s seed once more. He was rewarded a few moments later when Athos cried out and began to spend, his cock jerking as he flooded his mouth. 

Athos thought his heart was going to explode with everything he suddenly felt. It felt like he had never spent so hard in his life. But the thing that startled him the most was how connected he felt to Aramis. In that moment, it truly felt as if they were one.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Aramis moved up beside his panting lover. He could not wipe the grin from his face as he snuggled down against Athos’ side. Even his arousal was secondary to his joy in this moment. For so long he had despaired of ever being able to share such an act with his lovers again. To be able to do so was like a gift.

When Athos had gotten his breath back, he turned on his side to face Aramis. As he did so, he felt the man’s hardness brush against his hip. Reaching down, he carefully wrapped his hand around him, his eyes locked on Aramis to make sure such a touch was wanted. He need not have worried for as soon as Athos’ hand was around him Aramis’ hips bucked forward mindlessly as he gripped onto Athos’ arm and moaned.

“It’s alright. I have you,” Athos soothed as he began to stroke him. It only took a few strong pulls before Aramis was crying out and spilling between them, his seed striping Athos’ stomach and hip as he stroked him through his release.

Once Aramis had finished, Athos reached over the side of the bed and grabbed his discarded shirt. He used it to quickly clean them up then drew Aramis into his arms. Neither man said anything as they lay together simply enjoying the feel of one another in their arms. 

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

“You wanna wait down here for ‘em?” Porthos asked as he sat down beside d’Artagnan on the divan. 

“Nah,” d’Artagnan shook his head, smiling faintly. “I doubt they’ll be back down anyway. At least I hope not. Athos…”

“What?”

“Athos needs some time with him,” d’Artagnan said. “He needs to know everything between them isn’t lost. I know Aramis has told him as much but I also know he’s still scared. After everything that’s happened…”

“I know,” Porthos sighed. “But I don’t think we need to worry about Athos tonight. Aramis will take care of him.”

“Is there something else we need to worry about instead?” d’Artagnan asked, picking up on the subtle emphasis of Porthos’ words.

“Yeah. You,” Porthos said bluntly. 

“Me?” d’Artagnan replied surprised. “What have I done?”

“You haven’t done anything,” Porthos told him. “But I’m still a mite worried about you.”

“There is no need for that,” d’Artagnan said softly as he shook his head.

“I think there is,” Porthos insisted. “I think there’s something gnawing at you but you don’t want to say anything. Or don’t feel like you got anyone to say anything to. If you need to talk, Whelp, you know I’m here for you.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan whispered before replying more strongly. “I do know that. I’m just… I’m worried.”

“Worried about what?” Porthos asked.

“Aramis. What he wants. Or thinks he wants.”

“This about you taking up being his Master again?” Porthos asked intuitively.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied then fell silent. Both men sat quietly as the minutes ticked past until d’Artagnan spoke again. “I know he thinks he needs it, but I’m not sure if we should.”

“Why not?” Porthos asked carefully. He knew he was treading on very uncertain territory here. The Whelp was unsure about this where he was concerned on a good day. Taking their long hiatus into account, the boy had to be wondering if he wasn’t wishing the pair would simply let that part of their relationship die out. And while the small, selfish part of him did want that, the rest of him was appalled at the very idea. 

“Because I don’t deserve him,” d’Artagnan said. “After what I did…”

“That wasn’t your fault, boy, and you know it,” Porthos cut in. 

“I still don’t feel like I have the right, you know?” d’Artagnan tried to explain. “That time with Bathory was bad enough but this? I used it against him, Porthos. I used it to try to cow him into submission. How can he possibly want such a thing with me again after that?”

“Aramis knows that wasn’t really you. Besides, it isn’t up to me and you to say. It’s up to Aramis to decide what he wants and I’d say he’s made it pretty clear he wants his Master back.”

“I’m scared, Porthos,” d’Artagnan admitted as he looked away, his cheeks flaming at the admission.

“Scared of what?”

“Of trying again. Of failing him. Of how much I do want this. I mean, if we do try again, how far should we take it this time? I know you didn’t like some of the things we did before.”

“Okay stop,” Porthos said. He reached out turned d’Artagnan’s face back toward him. “I’ll admit, at first I didn’t like some of the things you two got up to. But that was because I didn’t understand it. I got a better idea now. More importantly, I trust you. I know you’re not going to hurt him or use him or… or try to take him away.”

“I don’t want to hurt you in this. That’s the last thing I want.”

“You think I don’t know that? I trust you, Whelp. I do. You need to trust yourself again. Cause your boy needs you.”

D’Artagnan leaned back on the divan and thought about what all Porthos had said. He had not missed the way Aramis had looked at him of late. He could not help but see Little One lurking in his eyes just below the surface as if begging to come out. He knew he wouldn’t though. Not until he gave him some kind of sign that he was welcome. For Little One was for no one but him. If he did not reach for him, he would forever reside in the depths of Aramis’ mind never to be seen again. 

“Do you truly think this is wise?” d’Artagnan asked one final time.

“I don’t know that I care how wise it is or not,” Porthos shrugged. “All I know is Aramis has never known the kind of peace he’s known with you. I don’t want to see him lose that.”

“Alright,” d’Artagnan said.

“You sure?” It was Porthos’ turn to grow worried now. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got to do this or something. This can’t be at your expense.”

“It won’t be,” d’Artagnan assured him. “I need him, too. It’ll be nice to know that everything I dreamed of hasn’t been lost to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Porthos asked, confused and concerned all at once.

“It’s not important.”

“I’m thinking it is,” Porthos said. “Out with it.”

“It’s stupid. And selfish,” d’Artagnan argued. “I should be happy with what I have not grousing about what I don’t.”

“So tell me what it is you think you don’t have any more,” Porthos insisted.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan replied succinctly. At Porthos’ incredulous stare he tried to explain. “Our… our play time, if you will. After everything I do not see him as willing to be so… so... harsh with me again. I shall miss it, that’s all.”

Porthos nodded, understanding what the boy meant. He knew he and Athos could play aggressively at times and could understand Athos maybe not having the heart to for a while. But he did not think that lost to them forever. 

“What else?” Porthos asked, knowing there was something more still.

“Fine,” d’Artagnan sighed resignedly. “My dream. My fantasy. Of all of you. Again, I do not see you all so willing to enact that after everything that has happened. It is alright, of course. I would never ask anything of you that you would not willingly give. But I shall miss the dream.”

“While I can’t speak for Athos, I do think you’re wrong,” Porthos said. “I think he just needs some time. Maybe a lot of time, but still. As for your little fantasy, I’m pretty sure I can still arrange that. Maybe not right away, but I wouldn’t write it off just yet.”

“I do not mean to push, Porthos,” d’Artagnan said quickly.

“And you’re not,” Porthos told him. “We all got wants and needs. There’s no shame in yours. We may not be able to meet them right this minute but that don’t mean we can’t ever. Have a little faith, Whelp.”

“You could stand to take your own advice in that,” d’Artagnan chuckled. 

“Come again?” 

“He is not lost to you,” d’Artagnan said, growing serious. “He never was though I know it certainly felt like it.”

“We’re brothers again,” Porthos shrugged dismissively, trying not to show how much d’Artagnan’s words affected him. “That’s all that matters.”

“It isn’t and you know it. You’ll settle for it, if you have to. Any of us would. But I’m telling you now, you won’t have to. I can see the desire in his eyes when he looks at you. He just… he isn’t sure what to do with it just yet. So he hesitates. But as you told me, this won’t be forever.”

Porthos tried not to take d’Artagnan’s words too much to heart. He did not want to get his hopes up only for them to be dashed. He did not think he could stand it. He was content with things as they were now. If he never had more than this he could live with it. Was it what he wanted? Of course not! But it was infinitely better than the alternative.

The pair retired not long after that. They weren’t surprised to find that Aramis and Athos had left the main room vacant, choosing to take one of the smaller bedrooms instead. Even though it would make the others’ absence be felt all the more keenly, they chose the main room anyway. As much as it would echo with their lack, it was filled with their memories, too. 

Climbing onto the big bed, Porthos pulled d’Artagnan onto it with him, situating the smaller man against him. He knew the bed had to feel enormous to d’Artagnan with just the two of them in it. It had the first few times he and Aramis had lain in it alone as well. He was accustomed to it now, though, and kept d’Artagnan close knowing it would help ease the sting of it. 

“This feels…” d’Artagnan trailed off unsure how to give voice to his feelings.

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed. “But you get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” d’Artagnan cried out, appalled. The very thought of getting used to sleeping apart from his brothers, sectioned off into pairs like this, made him feel sick. Would they never come together as a family again? Had the Darkness succeeded in destroying them after all?

“Hey now,” Porthos soothed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, well, I’m not sure what I meant really. I got used to it with Aramis back in Paris but that doesn’t mean that’s how it’s going to stay. We all want our family back it’s just gonna take some time is all.”

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan said as he burrowed into Porthos’ side, his arm going around the man. “I just miss it. Miss all of us being together. It feels like I have to pick and choose who I’m going to be with at any given time and I hate it.”

It wasn’t much longer before both men were asleep, the emotions of the day having taken their toll. For his part, Porthos slept soundly, the feel of d’Artagnan tucked up against his side a soothing balm. D’Artagnan’s sleep, however, was anything but peaceful.

_d’Artagnan cringed when he found himself on the battlefield once more with no clue as to how he had gotten there. He looked about the misty field that lay littered with corpses for any sign of his brothers. Once more, a splash of blue caught his eye and he moaned as he scrambled toward it._

_He knew Aramis was dead before he even reached his side. Still, he dropped to his knees and gently rolled his brother over. His entire chest was charred and blackened as if burnt by some great fire. That was not the worst part, though. The worst part was his eyes. Those dark eyes, always so full of life and love, now stared blankly ahead like the eyes of a giant doll. With a shaking hand, he reached down and gently closed them before placing a soft kiss to each one._

_Forcing himself to his feet, he scanned the battlefield once more. When he spied what could only be Porthos’ ornate leathers, he broke into a run. Skidding to a stop beside him, he could not hold back a sob when he realized that he, too, was long dead, a sword still lodged deeply in his side. “At least you are together,” he whispered as he placed a fleeting kiss to his brother’s forehead before forcing himself to his feet once more._

_“Athos!” he called out loudly, not caring if the enemy was still about or not. The only thing that mattered now was finding his last brother. Athos had to be alive. He had to. He could not lose them all. Not all of them. Not like this._

_He searched for what felt like hours before he finally spied him. He had drug himself a few feet away from the field and was sitting with his back against a tree, his hands cradling his stomach. D’Artagnan’s heart began to pound as he ran toward him and all but fell to the ground next to him, smiling in relief. As he looked at Athos, however, the smile slid from his face for something was very wrong. Athos was pale and shaking, his breath coming in short pants. Looking down at him, d’Artagnan saw that his hands were not merely cradling his stomach. Rather, they were holding it together to keep his insides from spilling out._

_“Don’t look so sad,” Athos panted. “I’ll be with the others soon.”_

_“But I’ll be all alone,” d’Artagnan couldn’t help but reply, tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over as he watched the light begin to dim in Athos’ eyes._

_“Yes, but you were always destined for that fate. Everyone leaves you, d’Artagnan, and we are no exception.”_

D’Artagnan awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed. He was shaking all over and had to fight not to be sick as the remnants of that horrible nightmare slowly faded. He remembered the dream well. He’d had it back in Paris right before the fight with Samael. What he did not understand was why he was having it again now. Slowly, as the horror of it began to fade, he managed to quell his shaking and lay back down. He was glad Porthos had slept through it, not wanting to have to explain. As he lay awake, he shuddered as he remembered Athos’ final words. _“Everyone leaves you, d’Artagnan, and we are no exception.”_

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

When Aramis awoke he was surprised at first by the feel of Athos’ chest beneath his cheek. He had grown accustomed to Porthos’ bulk and Athos’ smaller form was startling at first. As he lay there, he felt another twinge along his back and grimaced. 

_Stop it!_ he admonished himself. _It’s all in your head. It’s not real. _Aramis tried not to think about what would become of him if could not banish these phantom pains. How could he remain a Musketeer if he could be laid low at any second from little more than the shadows in his own mind?__

__He knew he should mention it to the others but he was hesitant. They all worried so much for him as it was. He didn’t want to add to that. If it got much worse, he would tell them. Until then, there was no real reason to burden them any further._ _

__As he continued to lie there, thoughts of Porthos began to circle through Aramis’ head. He recalled how they had worked in he kitchen that morning. It had been reminiscent of before with neither of them worrying about going too far and he found he missed that a very great deal._ _

__As he thought about it, Aramis realized that he trusted Porthos. He trusted him as much now as he ever had. He thought, perhaps, he had never stopped trusting Porthos. Rather, it was himself he had stopped trusting. His own judgement. For he had known something was amiss with his brother but he kept telling himself that it was not so. He had not listened to himself and he had paid the price. Not to say that Porthos was not to blame for what he had done for he was but it was long since time he stopped punishing them both for it. It was time to stop running. It was time to stop hiding._ _

__It was time to take his lover back._ _

__~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A_ _

__Athos came awake slowly, his mind fighting the pull of consciousness. He did not want to leave the warm cocoon of sleep where everything was as it should be, where everything was as it had been before Samael and the Darkness had laid waste to it._ _

__As he became more and more aware, he felt Aramis’ head lying on his chest and he had to bite back a moan. Having his lover in his arms again felt like Heaven. A Heaven he was completely unworthy of. Even as he thought it, he knew he was being foolish. Samael’s taint was gone. His brothers had washed him clean of it. He knew this. Yet he still could not help but feel unworthy of the man now sleeping peacefully in his arms._ _

__Shaking his head, Athos squeezed his eyes shut and frowned. He needed to move past this. He had to or it would end up driving a wedge between him and his brothers. He had to find a way to rid himself of the last of his guilt or he would lose his brothers for good. And that was something Athos refused to allow._ _

__~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A_ _

__When Porthos awoke he could tell right away that something was wrong. He pulled the Whelp in close to him and ran his hand up and down his tense back. “It’s okay,” he whispered as he did so, hoping to ease him. He was rewarded a few minutes later when d’Artagnan relaxed against him._ _

__“Morning,” d’Artagnan said softly._ _

__“Morning. You wanna talk about it?”_ _

__“Just a bad dream” d’Artagnan said dismissively. “Nothing to worry about.”_ _

__“You sure?” Porthos asked, thinking it must have been one hell of a dream to have the boy this tense._ _

__“Yeah. I’m sure.”_ _

__Porthos let it go for now hoping he would talk to one of them later on. As it was, he was anxious to get up and find Aramis. He felt like a moth to a flame when it came to the man, continually being drawn closer and closer knowing that sooner or later he was going to get burned but unable to help himself._ _

__By the time the pair made it downstairs, they found Aramis and Athos in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Porthos quickly took Athos’ place, eager for any excuse to be close to Aramis. Athos only grinned at him and sat down at the table beside d’Artagnan. He frowned slightly when he saw the dark circles under the younger man’s eyes. He started to say something but a subtle shake of d’Artagnan’s head stopped him._ _

__Watching Aramis and Porthos in the kitchen, Athos noticed a change in them. Aramis seemed more relaxed, more like his old self, as the pair moved in concert. And he didn’t shy away from touching Porthos. In fact, he went out of his way to touch the bigger man, brushing against him much more than necessary. It made Athos smile to see Aramis’ former playfulness returning._ _

__For his part, Porthos had never felt so tested as he did making breakfast with his brother. It felt like Aramis touched him more during that short time than he had in months. His brother did nothing overt, merely brushing a hand here, rubbing a shoulder there. It felt wonderful and terrible at the same time._ _

__By the time breakfast was finished, their usual air of camaraderie was back. Aramis had toned down his flirting a bit, not wanting to push too hard too soon. For all that he had come to an epiphany of sorts he understood that Porthos had not and might still need some time to ease back into things. That was alright, just as long as they were finally moving in the right direction._ _


	3. Chapter 3

“Aramis, can I talk to you for a moment?” D’Artagnan asked as he came into the sitting room. Aramis and Porthos were sitting together on the divan, their hands linked together. 

“Of course,” Aramis replied and squeezed Porthos’ hand before rising.

Porthos only grinned at the younger man. He hoped he was finally going to talk to him about taking up the mantle of his Master again. It could only be good for the both of them once they got past their fear of it. 

Wanting to ensure their privacy, d’Artagnan led Aramis upstairs to the main bedroom. He did not want to give him the wrong idea by taking the one he and Little One normally shared. He knew that was what Porthos thought he wanted to talk to him about but it wasn’t. 

“What is wrong?” Aramis asked once the door was safely closed behind them.

“Sit with me,” d’Artagnan said taking Aramis’ hand and leading him over to the bed. 

“You’re starting to scare me,” Aramis said when d’Artagnan didn’t say anything more. They were sitting side by side on the bed, their hands clasped together. He could feel the worry radiating off the other man and his heart began to hammer.

“It’s Athos,” d’Artagnan finally said.

“What’s wrong with Athos?” Aramis asked, his high, shrill voice betraying his sudden spike of fear.

“It’s...”

“D’Artagnan, please,” Aramis bade as a dozen scenarios sped through his mind, each more dire than the last.

“Stop panicking, love,” d’Artagnan said drawing his hand up and placing a kiss on the back of it. “He is not in any danger, I promise. He told me something and it troubles me. I thought perhaps you might have better insight than I.”

“Whatever did he tell you?” Aramis asked, relieved and yet not at the same time. He recalled his own conversation with Athos in the Glade and could only imagine the various things he could have said to d’Artagnan that would have caused him such worry.

“It was when we went for that ride together. He asked me if I ever wondered how I managed to get where I am,” d’Artagnan explained. “If I felt worthy of such happiness.”

“Worthy?” Aramis repeated taken aback. 

“I was as shocked as you. Athos is the last person I would expect to question his worth, especially where we are concerned.”

“But... why?” Aramis asked bewildered. Why would Athos question his worth? He had never done so before. So why was he now? Aramis had to wonder if he was not somehow the cause of it. Had his refusal to allow his brother close for so long made him question his own worth?

“I do not know the crux of it, but he told me that when he looked inside of himself he saw nothing, only blackness. I do not know for how long he has felt this way. I do not think it has been that long for surely we would have noticed something amiss with him.”

“You are right there,” Aramis said. “But with everything that has happened, it is hard to pinpoint when it may have started. Was it before Samael, after Samael? Perhaps it dates all the way back to the business with the Champneys and we simply failed to see, too blinded by our own concerns.” 

“Whenever it began, we know of it now,” d’Artagnan said. “And we need to deal with it. I did not handle it very well. In truth, I was so surprised I did not say much of anything. He needs to know that he is wrong, that he is not worthless, not in our eyes.”

“Yes, he most certainly does,” Aramis said firmly. “If you will excuse me, d’Artagnan, I need to go find Athos.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

Eventually, he found Athos at the Glade sitting on that same log staring off into the distance. He moved up beside him, making himself comfortable. He looked off in the direction Athos was staring but found nothing of note so turned his attention back to his brother.

“What are you doing here?” Athos asked without looking at him.

“Looking for you,” Aramis replied.

Athos did look at him then. “Is there something wrong?”

“I don’t know. Is there?” Aramis replied causing Athos to frown. Taking a breath, Aramis gathered his patience. “D’Artagnan had a talk with me.”

“Oh,” Athos said and turned away to once more stare off into the distance.

“Athos, how can you possibly feel you are unworthy?” Aramis asked cutting right to the heart of the matter. “You are the most worthy of men. Knowing all of the trials you have been through and how you have faced them all, I know of no one more deserving than you.”

“It does not feel that way,” Athos sighed.

“Tell me of this blackness you spoke to d’Artagnan of,” Aramis said. “It isn’t... it’s not...”

“No!” Athos said quickly, turning to face Aramis once more. “It’s not the Darkness. It isn’t anything like that. It’s just... nothing. A yawning mass of nothing inside of me. How can you call me worthy when I am empty inside?”

“Athos,” Aramis shook his head. “You are not empty inside. I realize it may feel that way right now, though I am unsure as to why, but it is not true. Your soul shines within you so brightly a blind man could see it.”

“How do you know?” Athos asked him.

“Because if it did not, you would not have been able to defeat Samael and destroy the Darkness,” Aramis replied. “An empty, worthless man would never have been able to do such a thing. More importantly, he would not have bothered to try. The fact that you did makes you worthy in itself.”

“Hmm,” Athos murmured and looked away again. 

They fell silent, giving Athos time to take in Aramis’ words. Aramis hoped he had gotten through to the man but Athos was nothing if not stubborn. 

“Tell me what has brought this on,” Aramis said after a while. “Is it because of me? Because I pushed you away for so long?”

“No,” Athos replied. “It is not you, dear Aramis.”

“Then what is it?”

“I...”

“Athos?”

“I can still feel it,” Athos said softly.

“Still feel what?” Aramis asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Samael’s taint.” The words were bitter as if saying them left a bad taste in his mouth. _Samael_. He felt as though he would never be free of that bastard. 

“There is no taint,” Aramis told him gently. “There never was. Samael has not tainted you. You are not unclean.”

“I feel as though I am. It is not as bad as before but it is still there, like an itch just under my skin.”

“You say it is not as bad as before?” Aramis asked. “So we managed to cleanse you of part of it?”

“Yes,” Athos nodded.

“Then perhaps we simply did not get it all,” Aramis suggested. “Perhaps we need to try again. We will free you from this taint, Athos, if we have to wash it from you a hundred times over. But you must be willing to let us.”

“Anything,” Athos agreed. “I don’t want to you lose and I know if I don’t find a way to get past this I will.”

“You will not lose us as easily as all that but we will help you to get past this if you let us.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

While Aramis was busy tracking down Athos, Porthos went in search of d’Artagnan. He found him in the barn brushing out one of the horses just as he’d expected. He stood in the doorway for a moment simply admiring the man. D’Artagnan was the youngest of them but he was as strong and fit as any of them. He wasn’t as big as he was, of course, but he was broader than Athos and certainly bigger than Aramis’ wiry frame. His constant work with the horses kept him fit even out here and Porthos took his time appreciating him.

“Did you need something or did you just come to watch?” D’Artagnan asked after a while.

“Came to talk to you, brat, then I got all distracted,” Porthos chuckled.

“Oh really?” D’Artagnan replied playfully.

“Really,” Porthos grinned. “But I did come to talk. Got a minute?”

“Always,” d’Artagnan said. “Just let me turn her out with the others.”

Porthos waited while he put away the brush and turned the horse out into the pasture then d’Artagnan came over and sat beside him on a bale of hay. “What is it?” D’Artagnan asked once they were comfortable.

“Look, Whelp, I know you’re worried about it,” Porthos said jumping right in, “but if you want your Little One back then you need to step up. Aramis, he needs his Master. He’s needing him more and more every day. And the longer you wait the clearer the message is you’re sending him.”

“You are right,” d’Artagnan sighed. “But I do not want to mess this up. There have been so many errors on all of our parts. I do not know if we could stand another.”

“I get it. You’re scared. But so is he and he needs you. He needs that steadying influence you brought to him. You don’t realize what it did for him to finally have that maelstrom in his mind quiet. You did that, boy. Nobody else ever had before and I doubt anyone else ever will again. So just... just think about it. Okay?”

“Do you truly believe this is what he needs?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Yes,” Porthos replied. “But you’ve got to want it, too. You can’t do it just because Aramis needs it.”

“If you think I don’t want this, Porthos, you are blind,” d’Artagnan said flatly. “I have not been holding back from a lack of want. Much the opposite. I did not want my desire to cloud my judgement. I did not want it to make me see that which was not there.”

“Believe me, it’s there.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

That night, for the first time since the night they had bathed him, they all four slept together. Athos had tried to move next to the wall but d’Artagnan had gently but firmly moved him into the middle next to Aramis. Aramis had smiled his thanks at their youngest, grateful as ever for his perceptiveness.

Athos had hesitated a moment then moved into Aramis’ arms eagerly. He felt d’Artagnan mold himself along his back and shuddered softly. When Porthos’ warm hand settled over his hip he couldn’t help but moan. To have his brothers clustered around him like this eased something inside of him, something that cringed and lamented every time they slept apart. D’Artagnan, it would seem, was not the only one that despaired of their family ever coming together again. Lying here like this was the closest they had come to what they had once been and Athos drank it in like a dying man. 

“It’s alright,” Aramis whispered as he held Athos in his arms. He felt Porthos press against him, much closer than he normally did, so that he could reach out to Athos. Aramis didn’t mind. In truth, he was glad for it. He had not felt Porthos like this in so long it was almost shocking at first. That shock soon turned to want and he had to force himself not to push back into the other man. 

“This okay?” Porthos whispered when he felt Aramis suddenly tense.

“Perfect,” Aramis told him and quickly reached back with one hand to grasp Porthos’ hip. “Don’t go. Please.”

“I won’t,” Porthos told him. “You just take care of Athos. I’ll be right here.”

With a last squeeze to Porthos’ hip, Aramis released him and once more wrapped his arms around Athos. He held him snug against him, pressing his head against his chest and resting his chin atop it. As he held him, he could feel the tension slowly bleeding away and placed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Rest, love,” Aramis said as he held him. “We are all of us here and we have you.”

Athos didn’t reply, merely snuggling down a bit more into Aramis embrace. He let the feel of his brothers all around him wash over him. In less time than he would have thought he was asleep. 

As sleep began to take them one by one, d’Artagnan tried not to worry. With his brothers all there with him he was sure the nightmare of last night would not return. Still, he found himself apprehensive as sleep began to pull him under.

_d’Artagnan nearly sobbed when he found himself once more on that corpse-strewn battlefield. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see. The smell of the bodies was nearly overwhelming and he had to fight not to retch._

_Knowing he could not simply stand there like a child refusing to acknowledge the monster lurking in the dark, he opened his eyes. As soon as he did a bright splash of blue caught his eye and he found himself racing toward it, his heart in his throat._

_Dropping to his knees, he turned his brother over with gentle hands gasping at the horrible wounds that rent him open from gullet to groin. Steeling himself, he looked up into Aramis’ dark eyes and flinched. Gone was the laughter and light he had loved so much. In its place was a mixture of pain and fear that made his heart hurt to see. With a trembling hand, he reached up and closed those lifeless eyes, going so far as to pull his sash from his waist and cover him with it._

_Sitting back on his heels, he immediately spied Porthos a few short feet away. Pushing himself reluctantly to his feet, he moved to the big man’s side and dropped down beside him. Porthos’ eyes were as sightless as Aramis’, their perpetual twinkle snuffed out as they stared up into the sky, the spear running through him pinning him to the ground. Like Aramis, d’Artagnan close his sightless eyes as well and wished he had something to cover him with._

_Getting to his feet, d’Artagnan scanned the bodies on the field for any sign of Athos’ dark leathers. He felt a spark of hope when he did not see them and quickly stomped on it. When his eyes finally lit on Athos leaning against a tree, his hands wrapped around his middle, his heart thundered in his chest. Mindless of anything else, he ran toward him, all but throwing himself to his knees beside the man._

_“Athos,” he gasped, tears filing his eyes at seeing his brother alive. His joy, however, was short lived. For Athos’ hands were not merely wrapped around his middle, they were literally holding the man together._

_“D’Ar...tagnan... you... made it,” Athos gasped, his eyes pinched in pain._

_“Athos,” d’Artagnan moaned, unable to believe he had found his last brother only to lose him too._

_“Don’t look so sad,” Athos panted. “I’ll be with the others soon.”_

_“But I’ll be all alone,” d’Artagnan couldn’t help but reply._

_“Yes, but you were always destined for that fate. Everyone leaves you, d’Artagnan, and we are no exception.”_

D’Artagnan jerked awake with a cry. He was shaking and covered in sweat as he looked wildly about the room. When he realized he was at the Maison safely in bed with his very much alive brothers he sobbed in relief.

“D’Artagnan? What is it?” Athos asked having come awake at d’Artagnan’s violent reaction to his dream.

“Nothing,” d’Artagnan said, flushing. “Go back to sleep.”

“That was not nothing,” Athos said as he carefully pulled away from Aramis and sat up beside the younger man. “Was it a nightmare?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan admitted, “but it’s not important.”

“Is that what happened last night?” Porthos asked having come awake to the pair talking.

“Please, it’s nothing. Go back to sleep,” d’Artagnan bade them.

“I find I must agree with Athos,” Aramis put in, letting him know that he, too, was awake. “For anything that makes you that desperate for us to leave alone is always something. D’Artagnan, we cannot help you if you do not talk to us.”

“‘Twas just a dream. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

“How many times have you had this dream?” Athos asked worriedly.

“Two,” d’Artagnan replied. “Well, three if you count the time in Paris.”

“In Paris?” Aramis echoed. “Was this when we all...”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan admitted. “But only part of it. Not the... not the crossroads part.”

“So the battlefield then,” Athos said grimly. He remembered what d’Artagnan had dreamt of quite well. Even as distraught as he had been over his own actions, the lad’s dream had cut him deeply. He could barely imagine how painful it must have been for him to endure it and now he had been forced to relive it twice over again.

“The battlefield?” Porthos queries. “What, where all of us died?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said softly.

“Oh love,” Aramis said, his heart aching for him. “Is it the same every time?”

“Mostly. It changes some with how you and Porthos died but Athos is always the same. He’s always leaning against a tree, his belly slit open. And he always says the same thing every time.”

“And what does he say?” Aramis asked. He thought he remembered it but he wanted to be sure and he thought it would do d’Artagnan good to actually voice his fear.

“He says... he says... that I was always destined to be alone. That everyone leaves me and you all are no exception.”

“You know that is not true,” Athos told him as he wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in close.

“Do I?” D’Artagnan replied. 

“Yes,” Aramis said firmly. “You are not destined to be alone. We are not fated to leave you. Could it happen? Unfortunately, with the lives we lead, yes. But it is not foretold.”

“Aramis is right, Whelp. We aren’t predestined for anything. We make our own fate. Personally, when it happens, I think we’ll all go together. Least I hope it happens that way. Can’t stand the thought of only a couple of us having to go on alone.”

“Nor can I,” Athos agreed. “Though I would not wish death on any of you.”

“I do believe we are all in agreement in this regard,” Aramis said, his voice breaking.

“Aramis?” D’Artagnan called.

“I’m sorry. I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to any of you yet the thought of you being forced to go on alone nearly breaks my heart.”

“It will not happen,” d’Artagnan said firmly, ashamed that he had upset Aramis so. “It will not happen because we will not allow it to. We will stand together as we always have and if we fall, we will fall together.”

They stayed in bed for a while longer though none of them slept. Athos had rolled a weakly protesting d’Artagnan over into the middle and they had all curled protectively around him. Rather than sleep, they drew comfort from each other’s presence and let it chase away the lingering shadows of d’Artagnan’s dream. 

Athos felt the tension bleed out of his young lover as they wrapped themselves around him. He knew he had to be too warm with them all pressing in on him as they were but he knew he would not complain. The warmth of them, the faint smell of sweat on their skin, would be more reminders that they were still here, alive and by his side.

Even after they climbed from the bed they still stuck close to one another. It was reminiscent of their very first days at the Maison, just after Flamare, when they could not bear to be out of sight of one another. They knew this would pass. Experience told them as much so they simply indulged themselves for now, knowing it did them no harm and no one would judge them for it. 

As the day wore on, they were surprised by the sound of a rider approaching. Athos signaled for d’Artagnan to remain with Aramis while he and Porthos went out to greet whomever had come to call. When they saw who it was, they both broke out into wide grins. 

“It is good to see you, my friend,” Athos greeted their visitor. “Aramis will be most pleased when he sees who has come to call.”

“Indeed,” Porthos agreed. 

“It is good to see you men as well,” Michel said. 

Michel took a step toward the house but Athos stopped him suddenly frowning. He glanced at Porthos before turning his attention back to the priest. “There isn’t anything we need to know about, is there?”

“No,” Michel said at once, shaking his head vigorously. “Everything in Paris is fine. I give you my word.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Porthos said as relief coursed through him. He had had the same misgivings as Athos at almost the same instant and it sickened him. But there was no need to worry. Michel said all was well back in Paris and he believed him. 

“Come,” Athos said, eager now to reunite Michel and Aramis. Not that they had been apart all that long but Athos suspected that Aramis could use some spiritual guidance right about now.

When Michel walked into the sitting room he was greeted by a look of stunned surprise from both Aramis and d’Artagnan. Slowly, that surprise gave way to joy and Aramis sprang up and embraced his old friend heartily. 

“I’ll just give you two some privacy,” d’Artagnan said as he slipped from the room. He doubted if either man even heard him. That was alright. He knew how much Aramis cared for the priest and it was clear that Michel returned that affection equally.

Joining Porthos and Athos in the kitchen d’Artagnan smiled and shook his head. “I take it all is well?” he asked.

“Yeah. Priest said everything’s fine at the garrison,” Porthos replied. 

“Good,” d’Artagnan said, relieved. “That is one worry we do not need right now. But it does beg the question as to why Michel is here then.”

“I think he just came to check on Aramis,” Athos said. “He has only had our word that Aramis survived the Darkness’ assault intact. I do believe he wished to see it was so with his own eyes.”

“Well whatever the reason I’m glad he’s here,” d’Artagnan said causing both men to look at him askance. “Aramis could use a confessor. And before you say it, yes, I know he can tell us anything but sometimes it is easier to confide in one outside of things. He has always valued Michel’s perspective. Perhaps it will prove valuable to him now as well.”

“Let us hope,” Athos agreed. “I know he still struggles though he tries his best not to show it.”

“He’s so busy looking after the lot of us that he’s not taking time for himself,” Porthos added. “Again.”

“Indeed,” Athos said. “I think we need to have that discussion with him tonight. Of all the things to willfully ignore, physician heal thyself shall not be one of them.”

While the others were taking in the kitchen, Aramis had drawn Michel down onto the divan next to him. He considered Michel a mentor and felt in sore need of his guidance. Just sitting next to the man he could feel how at peace he was and longed for that. 

“I am so glad to see you safe,” Michel said as he clasped hands with Aramis. “I know I should not have arrived unannounced but I could not wait another moment to be sure.”

“Oh Michel, no,” Aramis said. “I am glad you came! You are free to call upon us wherever we are as you like.”

“Thank you. Seeing you safe again does an old man’s heart good.” Michel paused then and studied Aramis. “You are troubled.”

“Yes,” Aramis nodded, looking down. He knew Michel would not think less of him but he was so tired of being weak in the eyes of others. 

“Aramis,” Michel chided, squeezing his hands. He smiled softly when he looked up. “I am your confessor. To whom else are you supposed to confide these things if not to me?”

“Thank you, Michel. There are still some few things that trouble me that I need your guidance on. Perhaps then I will be able to find some measure of peace again.”

“Peace?” Michel questioned. “I do not mean to pry but is your relationship with d’Artagnan no longer what it was?”

Aramis shook his head sadly. “After the attack, I needed time. Since then we have not been able to find our way back to each other.”

“I see. No wonder you struggle to find peace,” Michel said. At Aramis’ shocked look he explained. “Your relationship had allowed you to find a degree of peace you had not thought possible for yourself. Its absence has left a noticeable hole.”

“I know. I feel it every day. It is like a missing tooth. My tongue cannot help but return to the empty socket time and again even knowing what it will find.”

“If you wish this relationship again, my advice is to speak to d’Artagnan. Make yourself plain. After the attack, he is not likely to pursue such a relationship on his own. The overture must come from you.”

“I have tried,” Aramis replied.

“Then you have not tried hard enough. As I said, make yourself plain. Tell him what you want and do not hide it behind pretty words. He will not let you down.”

“You seem quite confident in that.”

“I am. God would not be so cruel as to allow you to find such peace only to take it from you. Now tell me what else is bothering you for I know there is yet more.”

“The brand,” Aramis said flatly and went on to explain about how Athos’ destruction of the Darkness had rid him of the Bathory crest. “Now the only thing marring it is the scar from Athos’ blade.”

“Aramis, you are not truly thinking of asking your brothers to...”

“No,” Aramis said quickly. “For a moment I had toyed with the idea but in the end I knew I could never bring myself to ask such a thing of them. It had hurt them all so much to do so in the first place. I would not ask them to make such a sacrifice frivolously.”

“I know very well you do not consider this frivolous, but I am glad all the same that you changed your mind.”

“There is something about the brand that still concerns me, though,” Aramis said.

“What?”

“Athos. To me the burning away of the Bathory crest was nothing short of a divine blessing. When I look at the brand and see Athos’ scar running through it that is what I think of. Athos, however, sees only the wound he willfully inflicted on one of his brothers.”

“Yes, I can see where Athos might view the brand differently,” Michel agreed. “Have you spoken to him of this?”

“I have,” Aramis replied. 

“Then what still troubles you?”

“I know God guided Athos’ hand in striking the killing blow. And it feels like He is still tempering him for something.”

“You feel God has been tempering Athos?” Michel asked surprised.

“He has been tempering Athos’ faith for some time now,” Aramis explained. “I feel this is yet one more example of such and it worries me as to why. Why does Athos’ faith need to be stronger? What is coming...”

“Stop,” Michel said gently. “You are reading far too much into this. If God is tempering Athos’ faith, which I have no reason to doubt you on, that does not mean some new calamity is coming. Faith is what sees us through in our darkest times. Maybe there are things Athos still struggles with that he will need his faith to get past.”

“There are things, yes,” Aramis said, relieved that Michel did not think some new disaster about to befall them.

“If you wish, I will offer him my counsel before I leave. Not that I think he will take it, but I will make the offer all the same.”

“Yes, please,” Aramis said eagerly. 

“Is that all about Athos that concerns you?” Michel asked reading the concern in his friend’s eyes.

“No,” Aramis admitted. “He is struggling with more than simply the scar he left me with. He feels that Samael tainted him in some way. We have spoken of it, have all of us tried to tell him it is not so, but I think he still feels it.”

“Is this similar to the taint you felt from Bathory’s mark on you?”

“Yes,” Aramis said in disgust. “I even found him in the glade trying to brand himself. Thank God I stopped him in time. He said that since the branding worked to remove Bathory’s taint from me then it should hopefully remove Samael’s from him.”

“I see,” Michel said. “Perhaps this is the very thing God has been tempering Athos’ faith for.”

“Do you really think so?” Aramis asked, surprised he had not come to that conclusion himself.

“I don’t know but I do believe he is going to need a great deal of faith in God, in his brothers, and in himself to get past this.”

It was late in the afternoon when the pair emerged from the sitting room. They found the others clustered around the kitchen table talking. “May we join you?” Aramis asked.

“Of course,” Athos said and quickly moved to make room for the pair.

“Michel said there was something he wanted to talk to us all about,” Aramis said. He had a feeling it had to do with the garrison and he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with that yet.

“To get to the point,” Michel began, watching the men carefully. “I think it might be good for everyone if you had Treville out for a visit.” 

Athos and Aramis visibly stiffened at the mention of Treville. Aramis, normally the most forgiving of men, was not sure he could countenance having him there. Not in their home. Not yet. It was too soon.

“I think it might provide a sort of closure for all of you,” Michel tried again.

“I can’t,” Aramis shook his head. “I’m sorry, Michel. After everything, I can’t have him here. Not yet. I know the Darkness is gone, but...”

“But what he did still lies between you,” Michel finished. “I understand. When you can then. I have said nothing to him so there is no expectation on your part.”

“Thank you,” Athos said. “We understand this has been an ordeal for Treville, too. But we must look to our own well-being first and we simply are not ready.”

“Of course,” Michel said.

“However,” Athos paused. “I do need to give a report to the Captain. Since it’s already growing late, if you wish to spend the night I could ride back to Paris with you in the morning and pay him a visit.”

“Are you sure?” Michel asked not wanting to push Athos into something he was not ready for.

“Not alone,” Aramis said before Athos could reply, his voice somewhat strangled.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t want you going alone,” Aramis stated baldly. 

Porthos looked around the table and made a quick decision. “I probably need to report in as well,” he said. “I could ride with you two. That way Athos won’t have to ride back alone. That okay with you, ‘Mis?”

“Yes,” Aramis said, relief flooding him. He didn’t want any of them going off alone. Not yet.

“Will you be okay with just me here?” D’Artagnan asked. He had been quiet during most of the conversation but had no choice but to speak up now. 

“Of course I will,” Aramis said stunned that he would even ask such a thing. “I will always be content in your company.”

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

D’Artagnan and Aramis watched as Michel and their brothers rode away at first light. It had been hard to let them go. It was the first time they had been separated since coming to the Maison. Athos had tried to convince him that it wasn’t necessary for Porthos to come along but Aramis wouldn’t hear of it. It wasn’t that he did not trust Athos to make the trip, he wasn’t d’Artagnan after all. It was that he could not stomach the thought of any of them being so truly alone just yet.

“Is something wrong?” D’Artagnan asked as they walked back into the sitting room and sat down on the divan. He had not missed Michel’s whispered words to Aramis telling him to make the best of his time and could only conclude they had something to do with him.

“No,” Aramis chuckled, well aware that d’Artagnan had heard Michel. 

“Then what is it?” D’Artagnan urged gently. 

“I miss you,” Aramis said after a moment. He had thought last night about what Michel had said, about making himself and his desires plain to d’Artagnan. He wanted that, wanted to do that, but he needed to bridge the rest of the gap between the two of them first before seeking out his Master again.

“I’m here,” d’Artagnan told him, his brow furrowing as he moved closer so that their shoulders touched. “Have I been too distant? I have not meant...”

“No,” Aramis said quickly, cutting him off. “You have been here, I know. But I still miss you, miss our closeness, what we shared before.”

“Are you sure that is your wish?” D’Artagnan asked. “You do not have to rush.”

“I miss you,” Aramis said again.

“It is the same for me. Even being here together, even sharing the same bed, there is still this distance between us.”

Aramis only nodded and turned toward the other man. He pulled d’Artagnan into his arms, nearly moaning when the man’s arms slipped around his own waist in return. “I love you,” Aramis whispered as he held him against his chest. “I love you so much. Can we... that is... do you want to make love?”

“I always want to make love to you,” d’Artagnan answered. “Always. I have missed you so much. It has been like a giant aching hole inside of me.”

“It has been the same for me,” Aramis said.

“Then let us go upstairs,” d’Artagnan said. “I do not wish our first time together again to be some frenzied coupling on the floor.”

They held hands as they rose from the divan, both men feeling a sense of rightness. It was long past time that they crossed this final bridge back to one another. At the bedrooms, d’Artagnan hesitated for a moment then drew Aramis toward the one they had always considered _theirs_. At Aramis’ sharp intake of breath, he thought he had made the right decision. 

Even knowing they were in the manor alone, d’Artagnan secured the door behind them before turning to his lover. Aramis stood in the center of the room in a loose shirt and breeches. It was not so much his state of dress that made d’Artagnan’s heart squeeze in his chest but rather the shy almost tentative look he wore. This, d’Artagnan decided, was not a look his beautiful, confident lover should wear and he was determined to wipe it from him.

Moving close, d’Artagnan pulled Aramis into his arms and held him, letting the man bury his face against his neck. They remained standing like that for long minutes until he finally broke the silence. 

“What is it?” D’Artagnan prompted. “I don’t believe I have ever seen you look so shy before.”

Aramis blushed at that and held onto d’Artagnan a bit tighter. “It is just... well, it is akin to our first time together all over again. I find myself... nervous.”

“Do you have any idea how nervous I was that first time?” D’Artagnan asked. “It was taking a good part of my will just to keep from shaking. I was so worried I was going to mess it up for you. I mean, I know it was my fantasy but I wanted it to be good for you, too.”

“You could not have messed it up as you put it if you tried,” Aramis told him. “From the very second I started walking across that floor toward you things began to slot into place inside of me. You never had anything to worry about.”

“And neither do you,” d’Artagnan said. “You are far too beautiful to ever feel shy.”

Aramis was smiling, right up until the moment d’Artagnan called him beautiful. He flinched hard at the word and turned away, his face heating in shame. He felt tears prick his eyes as the memory of his brother’s harsh words came roaring back once more.

“Aramis?” D’Artagnan said in alarm. He had seen his lover flinch at his words, the smile sliding from his face to be replaced with a pained grimace as he blushed furiously. He did not know at first what he had said then he realized. Beautiful. This was the first time he had called Aramis beautiful since the attack. No wonder it had thrown the man so.

“You do not need to offer platitudes you do not mean,” Aramis said, his voice pained. “I do not need pretty words to lure me to your bed.”

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan said as he rubbed his hands up and down Aramis’ arms hoping to soothe him. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But it is the truth. I don’t care what I said before when that demon had hold of my mind. The truth is, you are the most beautiful man I have ever known, inside and out.”

“My face tells another story,” Aramis argued. He did not mean to seem vain, truly he did not. But he had trusted these men when they had told him he was still beautiful to them before. He did not think he could do so again, for a second betrayal in such a manner would likely end him.

“Your face tells the story of a man who has endured against impossible odds,” d’Artagnan said. “A man who has suffered at the hands of those he trusted most yet still found it within himself to forgive them.”

“D’Artagnan...”

“I love you, Aramis. The scars on your face and all. They do not take away from your beauty in my eyes. They never have. And I will hate myself to the end of my days for ever making you think such a thing.”

“It wasn’t you,” Aramis offered weakly.

“Yet you still believe it to be true. You believe there to be some kernel of truth in those horrid words I spoke.”

“I find myself unable not to. I have looked in a mirror, d’Artagnan. I know what I look like now.” 

“No. You know what you look like to you. You have no idea what you look like to me.”

“You still find me beautiful?” Aramis asked shyly. He wasn’t fishing for compliments. He truly did not see how it could be so and now he had yet more scars littering him.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan answered simply. He pulled back and slowly brought their mouths together kissing his lover tenderly. When he finally pulled away, he took a step back as well and began to slowly undress his lover.

“You are the most alluring creature I have ever known,” d’Artagnan continued as he worked on his cuffs. “Graceful and lithe while at the same time strong and masculine. It is a potent combination.”

“D’Artagnan, you don’t...”

“Hush,” d’Artagnan said and was pleased when Aramis complied at once. “But above all else, you are beautiful. Your spirit shines like a beacon. Your eyes are so deep I feel as if I could drown in them. And your face... your face is precious to me just as it is, scars and all.”

Taking another step back, d’Artagnan slid to his knees and began working Aramis’ breeches down over his hips. He felt the man’s hands come to his shoulders to steady himself as he stepped out of them then he was standing naked as he knelt before him.

Resisting the urge to simply fall on his lover and devour him, d’Artagnan pushed himself back to his feet and began quickly shedding his own clothes. Once he was naked too he took Aramis’ hand and ushered him over to the bed, pushing him down and in before sliding in behind him. As soon as d’Artagnan was settled beside him, Aramis pulled him into a deep kiss. Both men moaned at the taste and feel of the other. They had done this much before, kissing and touching each other to completion. That wasn’t what Aramis wanted, though. Not this time. 

“I want you,” Aramis gasped as he broke away from their kiss only for d’Artagnan to start mouthing up and down his chin and neck. 

“You have me,” d’Artagnan murmured back.

“I want you inside me,” Aramis clarified. He felt d’Artagnan go still beside him and pull back. He brought his eyes to his lover’s and searched them nervously. He found an answering wariness and a degree of fear he did not like at all.

“Are you certain?” D’Artagnan asked. “You need not push yourself. I will wait for you.”

“I am positive,” Aramis told him firmly. “We have both waited quite long enough. I am tired of wondering if we will ever find our way back to each other. But if you are not yet ready...”

“I am yours, Aramis,” d’Artagnan vowed pausing for a moment before coming to a decision. “And if you are truly certain, then link your fingers behind your head and keep them there.”

Aramis’ eyes widened in surprise but he quickly did as d’Artagnan bid, linking his fingers behind his head and laying back against them. “Like this?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said, swallowing thickly. “You can take them down at any time, for any reason. You need not ask first.”

“But you want me to keep them there?” Aramis asked, wanting to make sure he understood what d’Artagnan was asking of him. 

“But I want you to keep them there, yes,” d’Artagnan answered.

“Yes, d’Artagnan,” Aramis said softly, a thrill running through him at saying those two simple words. For they were not merely two simple words to them. To them they symbolized a level of trust between them that had come perilously close to being shattered forever. 

“So good for me,” d’Artagnan whispered and began kissing Aramis once more. He kissed him thoroughly, pressing his tongue in deep, until Aramis was all but panting. Then he pulled back and began to pepper Aramis’ face with kisses until he reached his neck. Suddenly, the urge to bite down, to mark him as he had before, was nearly overwhelming and he had to draw back to keep from doing so. 

“What is it?” Aramis asked when he felt him pull back sharply.

“Nothing,” d’Artagnan said. He saw Aramis’ frown and explained. “For a moment, I wanted to mark you. As I had done before. I’m sorry. I know such a thing would not...”

“You know no such thing,” Aramis told him. “I told you before, I always want your mark upon me.”

“Things can change, love,” d’Artagnan said gently. “I understand that. You need not force yourself if this is something you no longer wish.”

“And if it is something I do?” Aramis asked.

“Do you?” D’Artagnan challenged.

“I am not sure,” Aramis admitted. “No, that’s not right. I do want it. I am not sure if I am ready for it yet.”

“Fair enough,” d’Artagnan said and began peppering kisses all over his face once more. Slowly, he worked his way down to Aramis’ neck. There, he began to suck lightly when suddenly Aramis tensed. 

“Shh. It’s alright. I won’t,” d’Artagnan whispered drawing back and placing a kiss to the spot he had just been sucking.

“I’m sorry,” Aramis began but d’Artagnan cut him off.

“Hush,” he said tenderly then turned back to his ministrations, this time concentrating on Aramis’ firm chest. Kissing his way down, he stopped at his nipples, taking time to lick and suck them until they stood up stiff and red. A quick glance down Aramis’ body showed his cock to be hard and leaking between his legs and it made d’Artagnan’s mouth water. 

Resuming his assault, he kissed his way down to Aramis’ navel. He paused for a moment, admiring the way the muscles jumped and quivered in anticipation of his touch, then brought his mouth down and began tonguing at the little hole. 

“D’Artagnan... please...” Aramis moaned as he tried not to thrash on the bed. He had to tighten his fingers in his hair to keep from breaking position in order to shove the younger man’s head down where he so desperately wanted it. D’Artagnan had put him in this position, though, and he would not move from it unless he had to.

Taking pity on his lover, d’Artagnan reluctantly began to move down once more. When he reached Aramis’ stiff red cock, he bypassed it, kissing all around it and pulling a gasping moan from his lover. Finally, he placed a quick kiss to the sticky head and sat up. 

Aramis’ eyes flew open and he stared up at his lover. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” d’Artagnan smiled. “I just need something and to get into a better position.”

Aramis simply lay there watching as d’Artagnan took the oil from the bedside table and spread his legs so he could move between them. He blinked lazily as he continued to watch d’Artagnan pour some of the oil onto his fingers. 

“Ready?” D’Artagnan asked as he settled down between Aramis’ legs, his head once more resting over his hard cock.

“Yes, d’Artagnan,” Aramis replied softly.

“So good for me,” d’Artagnan praised then quickly leaned down and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth.

Aramis couldn’t hold in his shout at the feel of d’Artagnan’s hot mouth on his aching member. He tried not to thrust his hips but he was powerless to stop himself. It had been so long since they had come together like this and coupled with the ‘request’ to keep his hands behind his head, it was almost more than he could take. 

For his part, d’Artagnan simply held Aramis’ cock in his mouth at first not wanting to overwhelm him. When he felt him start to calm he opened his mouth a bit farther and began to move. At the same time, he ran his oils fingers up and down his cleft, slicking it, before pressing firmly against his hole.

Slowly, d’Artagnan slid his finger inside as his mouth inched down his cock. He felt his lover start to shake at the dual stimulation and was careful to move slowly. It didn’t take long, however, for his finger to be all the way inside of him. Once it was, d’Artagnan began to fuck him with it in time to the movement of his head. 

Aramis felt like he was going to explode. D’Artagnan’s mouth on his cock felt divine but the finger inside of him felt doubly so. He wanted to press back, to grind against him, but he knew his lover didn’t want that. No d’Artagnan wanted his compliance and that was what he was going to get. He only hoped he did not mind when he ended up spending down his throat. 

D’Artagnan wasn’t surprised when Aramis’ cock started to swell in his mouth. The onslaught of sensations was quickly proving more than his lover could take. That was fine with him. He wanted Aramis to spend like this first. He was not sure if he had been taken by any of them yet and wanted him as relaxed as possible. 

When he felt his lover’s shaking start to intensify, d’Artagnan thought he might know why. Pulling his mouth away, he looked up his body at him, taking in the lust-blown brown eyes and disheveled hair. “Spend for me, love. I want to taste you again.” After that, a few more bobs of his head was all it took before Aramis was crying out and thrusting up as he began to spend.

D’Artagnan held his finger still as he waited for Aramis to come back down. Once his lover was blinking owlishly at him again, he smiled and began to slowly rock his finger back and forth again. One quickly became two then three and by the time d’Artagnan was sliding his fingers free Aramis was half-hard once more.

Sitting up between Aramis’ splayed thighs, d’Artagnan grasped his own hard cock and squeezed, trying to dispel some of his raging desire. He hissed when he slicked himself, the feel of his own hand making him want to thrust. As he moved up, he caught Aramis’ eye and found him watching him intently, one hand stroking his cock back to full hardness. 

Their eyes now locked together, d’Artagnan pushed Aramis’ legs wide and pressed inside of him. He gasped when the head slid inside, Aramis’ body clamping down on it and making d’Artagnan want to thrust. Holding himself in check, he ever so slowly pressed inside until he was fully seated. 

“You are amazing,” d’Artagnan told him as he brushed Aramis’ hand away from his cock and took it in hand himself. “Your capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds. You have endured so much that would have destroyed a lesser man. I am in awe of you.”

“D’Artagnan...” Aramis gasped, blushing at the effusive praise. 

“It is the truth,” d’Artagnan said as he began to move, slowly rocking his hips and thrusting into the other man. “You are the heart of us. The heart of me. You are the man I strive to be, though I fail utterly.

“And you are beautiful,” d’Artagnan continued, his hips picking up speed as he began to thrust in earnest. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever known or ever will. I love you, Aramis. With all my heart and soul, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Aramis moaned as he once again struggled not to break position and reach for his lover. His cock was hard in d’Artagnan’s hand, his lover stroking him in time to his thrusts. He did not know how but he could feel his release building again already and did his best to move with his lover.

“That’s it,” d’Artagnan urged. “Show me how much you want it. Show me how good it feels.”

“I do want it,” Aramis managed. “I want it so badly. You feel amazing. Too long... too long...”

“I know,” d’Artagnan gasped, his own release spiraling closer. “Will you spend for me again, love? Will you?”

“Yes, d’Artagnan,” Aramis groaned as his body sought to obey, clenching down hard on d’Artagnan’s cock as he began to spend.

“Aramis!” D’Artagnan shouted, slamming forward hard and stilling as he filled his lover’s body with his seed.

Lying together, clean and sated, d’Artagnan trailed his fingers up and down Aramis’ naked back. His lover was lying half on top of him, his head resting on his chest. It felt so good to be together like this again. The last wall between them finally shattered. 

Well perhaps not the last wall. Or rather not between them.

“Do you think there is a chance that Little One will ever forgive me?” D’Artagnan hesitantly asked. He understood that they had danced up to the edge today but that still did not mean that he would ever earn back Little One’s trust. 

“What?” Aramis gasped and pushed up to look d’Artagnan in the eyes. “He already has, Master. He forgave you a long time ago. It was never about that.”

D’Artagnan pressed Aramis’ head back down against his chest and held him. Neither of them spoke for long minutes as they thought over what each of them had said. It was hard for d’Artagnan to fathom that Little One had already forgiven him. What he had done had been such a horrid breach of the trust between them. He didn’t see how it was possible. 

As Aramis lay there, he could practically hear the thoughts turning over in d’Artagnan’s mind. He knew the Master in him would find it difficult to believe that Little One would, or even could, forgive him for what he had done. Aramis, however, disagreed. His Master had not been acting of his own free will. He understood that now and he should have understood it then, he simply had not been able to.

Steeling himself, Aramis asked one of the questions that had been paining him so much of late. “Have you buried the collar yet?”

“No,” d’Artagnan admitted. “I promised you back in Paris I would not give up on us. But at the same time I do not know if I am capable of earning back the right to offer it again.”

“You are not the one who needs to earn anything back,” Aramis argued. “I am the one who must earn the right to wear it again.”

“Aramis, no.”

“I broke your trust when I tore it from my neck,” Aramis said. “And I hurt you more than words can describe. I am the one who must earn forgiveness for I should never have done that.”

“No,” d’Artagnan said firmly. “You did what you had to do in order to heal. That it included no longer wearing my collar is no fault of yours. Yes, it hurt to see it off of you and know it was by your own hand no less but again that is no fault of yours.”

“Michel told me to speak with you,” Aramis said seemingly out of nowhere. “To make myself plain with you. So that is what I am going to do. I want my Master back. Little One wants his Master back. So does boy and every other one of my selves that reside inside of me. If you do not want that, you have but to say so and I will never bring it up again.”

“You have no idea how much I have longed to hear such words from you,” d’Artagnan said. “Porthos has counseled me to speak my mind to you as well so I tell you now, I want this. I want to be your Master again. But at the same time, I want to take things slowly. Our brothers understand more of it this time so there is less chance of a misstep but I would still be cautious, at least at first.”

“As you say, Master,” Aramis said, the title slipping from his lips and making his heart squeeze in his chest.

“Are you alright?” D’Artagnan asked when he felt a tremor run through the other man.

“I am,” Aramis nodded against him. “I have needed my Master sorely of late. To know that he is within my reach again...”

“I was always here for you, in whatever form you needed me.”

“I know but I did not want you forcing yourself to wear a mantle you no longer wanted. Better for me to learn to live without.”

“No,” d’Artagnan told him. “You will never have to do without, not as long as I live.”

“Thank you, Master.”


	4. Chapter 4

They waited until the next day to head to the garrison and see Treville. After half a day’s ride, neither man felt up to a possible confrontation. They had spent the night in their house, enjoying the quiet and the closeness. For all that he loved the others, Porthos brought with him a sense of calm that Athos sorely needed.

“You’re nervous,” Porthos pointed out as they prepared to head in.

“I am... cautious,” Athos corrected.

“Why? Michel said he’s not being influenced any longer and if he was going to reprimand you he would have done it when you came back before.”

“I know,” Athos agreed. “I do not know why I am uneasy, I only know that I am. Tread lightly, Porthos.”

“You don’t think...” Porthos trailed off, alarmed

“The Darkness? No,” Athos shook his head. “But if Richelieu got wind of what happened here we could be in serious trouble.”

“You don’t think the Captain would have warned us?”

“I like to think that, yes. But I don’t like taking chances,” Athos said then sighed. “You are right. I am most likely making something of nothing but I still do not yet trust Treville. Until I do, I will continue to be...”

“Cautious?”

“Cautious.”

They walked to the garrison in full uniform, standing shoulder to shoulder. They understood they were being somewhat intimidating but that was their intention. They had been gone too long as it was. Too many new faces only knew them by name and reputation now. Athos wasn’t in the mood to prove how good a swordsman he was today and hoped the general air of menace he and Porthos exuded would be enough to keep the curious at bay.

As soon as they entered the courtyard a hush fell over the place causing them both to pause. Even the older men seem startled for a moment but Athos chalked that up to simply not expecting to see any of them back so soon. Quickly enough, they resumed what they were doing with only the newer recruits still standing about gawking at them. Athos opened his mouth to say something then snapped it shut. It was no longer his place to order about the recruits of the garrison. That duty now fell to Porthos. 

“If you’ve nothing better to do than stand around like gaping fish I’m sure there are stables to be mucked out,” Porthos said, his voice having just enough bite to have them all quickly scurrying about. 

“Shall we go see if Treville is in?” Athos asked trying and failing to keep the smile from his lips. Porthos was quite good at getting the recruits into line it would seem.

“Let’s,” Porthos agreed.

They found Treville in his office going over the unending paperwork that seemed to flow across the Captain’s desk. He looked up, surprised to see them, and quickly ushered them in. He busied himself pouring them all a mug of wine trying to hide his sudden nervousness. He feared that the fact that both of them had come did not bode well for him. 

“It’s good to see you men,” Treville said after a moment. “I take it all is well with the others?”

“Yes, Sir,” Porthos replied. “Aramis is healing, albeit slowly in some areas.”

“In truth, we are all of us still healing,” Athos put in.

“So what brings you here today?” Treville asked deciding to simply get it out in the open.

“Father Michel paid us a visit. We wanted to escort him back and thought we’d give you an update,” Porthos replied. 

“And this required the pair of you?” Treville asked before he could stop himself.

“Aramis doesn’t like us going off by ourselves just yet,” Porthos shrugged. “Besides, thought it might be best if we both came and made sure things were okay.”

Treville looked away at Porthos’ words, the sting of them going straight to his heart. They did not trust him. Not even to run the garrison. He could not blame them. Many of the men still looked at him askance from time to time but they trusted Athos’ judgment in reinstating him. It would seem that Athos was not as confident in that choice as he had appeared to be.

“We did not mean it like that,” Athos said softly, understanding how Treville must have taken Porthos’ words. “We only meant to see if you needed any help. We know being without your second in command has left you short-handed.”

“I have managed without you before, Athos,” Treville chuckled as he looked back at the men, relieved. “I can do so this time as well.”

“I am no longer your second, Treville,” Athos told him bluntly. “That duty now falls to Porthos. He is the one you are making do without.”

“Yes,” Treville nodded. “Perhaps now is the time to discuss that.”

“No,” Athos said.

“I beg your pardon,” Treville replied.

“Athos...” Porthos whispered.

“No,” Athos said again. “There is nothing to discuss. You have named Porthos your second. He is more than deserving of the role. I will not see you take it from him.”

“Even at your expense?” Treville asked.

“Even then,” Athos said firmly. “He will make a good second. Far better than I ever did.”

“That’s not true,” Porthos argued. “Athos, come on. I know how much this meant to you. This and your rank. You don’t have to give this up just for me.”

“You are infinitely more important to me than any title or rank,” Athos told him. “Besides, a change would do the place good. You will make an excellent second, Porthos. I have no doubt of that.”

“But...”

“I am not taking the position back,” Athos said with an air of finality. “Either you accept it as your own or Treville will have to name yet another. It will not, however, be me.”

“Alright, alright. You win,” Porthos said, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“If this is not something you want, Porthos...” Treville began.

“No, Sir. I want it. I just didn’t want it at Athos’ expense.”

“Very well. Like Athos, I think you will make a fine second in command. I would not have named you otherwise.”

“So you didn’t name me just to dig the knife in a little deeper?”

“No,” Treville shook his head. “Though I can see where it might seem that way. I truly did choose you because I thought you the best man for the job.”

“Well alright then,” Porthos grinned.

“There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you, Athos,” Treville said carefully. “You may refuse to allow me to restore you position as second but at least allow me to restore your rank.”

“I do not much see point to it,” Athos shrugged doing his best to appear unconcerned. “The garrison does not need two lieutenants.”

“Stripping you of your rank was a travesty. Please, allow me to right this one wrong between us.”

“Very well,” Athos relented. He could see how much this mattered to Treville and, in truth, it mattered to him, too. His rank was one of the things that had defined him for so long. To lose it had been a horrible blow. Now the Captain was offering it back and he simply could not refuse it. 

By the time they descended the stairs from Treville’s office their moods were much lighter. Athos had not only secured Porthos’ position as second but had regained his own status. That alone was enough to leave him light-hearted and smiling as they walked through the courtyard.

Without warning, one of the newer recruits dashed out of a doorway and grabbed Athos. He spun him around, slamming him against a nearby pillar. “You did this!” he snarled. “You caused all of this!”

Athos felt pain flare along his back where it struck the pillar. The suddenness of the attack had sent a momentary jolt of fear through him but he quickly quashed it. How dare this little upstart attack him in such a manner! Before Athos could so much as reach for his blade, hands were grabbing the younger man and yanking him off of him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Claude snapped as he shook the younger man violently. 

“He did this. He caused all of this! Can’t you see?” 

“You shut your mouth!” Francois shouted angrily as he stormed out of the infirmary. 

“Whoa, easy lad,” Porthos said, grabbing the young man by the shoulder to keep him from getting into a physical altercation with the offending Musketeer. Not that Porthos would have minded but he wasn’t sure which one of them would come out on top and didn’t want Aramis’ boy getting hurt.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Treville demanded from the top of the landing. He had come out to the sound of a commotion in the courtyard.

“This fool attacked Athos,” Claude said.

“Up here, the both of you,” Treville ordered. “Athos, Porthos, go on about your business. I’ll see to this. Francois, I believe you have an infirmary to attend to.”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos replied. The three of them waited, watching as Claude all but drug the insolent recruit up the stairs to Treville’s office before turning back to one another.

“How is he?” Francois asked without preamble.

“He is well,” Athos replied. “He grows stronger every day.”

“That is good to hear,” Francois said, relieved. “Tell him not to rush himself, though. It is long past time he saw to his own needs for once.”

“We’ll tell him, lad,” Porthos chuckled. “Not sure how much he’ll listen, but we’ll tell him.”

After bidding Francois farewell, they continued on across the courtyard and through the garrison gate toward home.

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

Back at the Maison, d’Artagnan and Aramis were nestled together on the sofa. D’Artagnan had his legs spread wide with Aramis resting between them, d’Artagnan’s arms around his middle holding him close. It was a balm to both of them, easing the places inside of them that had been left raw and aching for far too long. 

As they sat, d’Artagnan thought about what Aramis had said about needing his Master. He had known for a while now that Aramis was struggling, unable to find the peace he sought. He had tried not to attribute it to himself but he was not a fool. Still, he wondered if there was yet more that his lover was having difficulty with that he was holding inside.

“Tell me what troubles you,” d’Artagnan said softly. He felt Aramis tense and knew he was in for a bit of a struggle. This happened sometimes and it was no surprise that it was happening now. As much as Aramis craved to let Little One take over, he was reluctant to, afraid he would reveal too much of himself. 

“There is nothing troubling me,” Aramis answered after a brief pause.

“Little One,” d’Artagnan chided gently. He was purposely trying to draw him out knowing that his Little One would be honest with him in a way that Aramis sometimes could not be.

“No, d’Artagnan, really. There’s nothing,” Aramis replied, steadfastly refusing to respond to his Master’s subtle summons. 

“Little One,” d’Artagnan said a bit more firmly. “Talk to me. I cannot help you if I do not know what you are struggling with. I know part of it, but I think there is more to it than simply your inability to find the peace you seek.”

“Master...” Aramis began unable to deny the command this time. He started to say more when a sharp, stabbing pain hit him in the back and he arched away from d’Artagnan with a grimace.

“Little One?” D’Artagnan called out in alarm. “What is it?”

“Back,” Aramis managed through gritted teeth. Before he could say more a wave of fear washed over him as well and he found himself looking about wildly in panic as sweat broke out all over him. He needed to run, to get away, but he didn’t know where to go.

D’Artagnan felt the shift in the room the second Aramis’ panic hit. He had no idea what had triggered such a response and cast about quickly for the cause. Seeing nothing, he turned his attention back to the man before him. 

“Kneel,” he commanded brusquely, relieved when Aramis obeyed instantly.

Without thought, Aramis slid to his knees at his Master’s command. His fists clenched at his sides as he panted but he held his position, his head bowed in submission. He felt d’Artagnan rise from the divan and shivered but made no move, waiting for his Master’s next command.

“Good boy,” d’Artagnan said as he moved in front of Aramis. He slid his hand into Aramis’ hair and cradled his skull. He could feel the tell-tale tremors running through him and massaged his head. He said nothing else, making no more contact than that, until he felt his boy start to relax beneath his hand.

“Little One?” he called. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“My back,” Aramis said, his cheeks flushing in shame.

“The scars again? I thought that had stopped.”

“Not... not really.”

“I see,” d’Artagnan said. “Why did you not tell us?”

“I did not want you all to start thinking me damaged in some way again. Phantom pains. It sounds as though I have lost my mind.”

“None of us would think such a thing,” d’Artagnan assured him. “But for now, I will not mention this to the others if you do not wish me to.”

“Thank you, Master,” Aramis said, relief washing over him.

“But why did you panic so? Was is simply that you were afraid I had found out?”

“No,” Aramis shook his head slightly. “I don’t know where that came from. Suddenly, I was beset by a feeling of such fear. It was over as soon as it began really but I was already panicking by then.”

“Hmm. I think my Little One has gone entirely too long without anyone to guide him.”

“He has,” Aramis agreed, his eyes still glued to the floor.

“Then this is what is going to happen. You will stand and go to our room. There you will strip and kneel for me. I will be along presently.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied.

D’Artagnan watched him go, waiting until he heard the door to their room close before heading to the master bedroom. Taking down his box, he removed the cuffs from inside. For just a moment, he stared at the collar still nestled within, but he knew this was not the time. Placing the box back inside the closet, he hurried to the other room. 

Opening the door, he found Aramis naked and kneeling in the center of the room. His breath stuttered in his throat at the sight of him and he had to stop for a moment and just breathe. Closing the door behind him, he walked over to his boy and carded his fingers through his hair once more earning a contented sigh from the man.

“So good for me,” d’Artagnan said as he stroked his fingers through his hair. 

“Master,” Aramis moaned, leaning into the touch. 

Kneeling down behind him, d’Artagnan carefully drew his arms back. “If you need me to free you, all you have to do is say so,” he said as he cuffed his hands into place behind his back.

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied breathlessly. To feel his cuffs again was like a dream. He couldn’t help but tug at them, pleased when they did not give. His Master had made him helpless, something Aramis despaired of his Master ever being willing to do again. He should have known better. His Master would always see to his boy. Always.

Once the cuffs were in place, d’Artagnan moved to the side of the bed and sat down. He kept his hand tangled in his boy’s hair, knowing he needed the connection. Spreading his legs wide, he slowly drew Aramis forward on his knees until he was resting between them.

“My beautiful, precious boy,” d’Artagnan said as he began to stroke his cheek with his free hand, his fingers trailing over the scars there. “You mean so much to me. I’m sorry it took me so long to find my way back here again.”

“No, Master,” Aramis said. “The fault was mine. I am the one that...”

“No,” d’Artagnan said firmly. “The fault was not yours. It was never yours. Look at me, Little One.” D’Artagnan waited patiently for Aramis to raise his head and meet his eyes. “I love you. More than life itself. There is nothing I would not do for you. Nothing I would not endure. That you have found a way to forgive what I did, I do not have the words.”

“I feel the same, Master,” Aramis said, tears filling his eyes as a sense of peace began to settle over him for the first time in months. 

~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A~O~V~A

Back at the house, Athos sat down at the kitchen table heavily. “Even the recruits know I am tainted,” he said as he rolled a mug of wine back and forth between his hands.

“It was one idiot recruit, Athos,” Porthos told him as he reached out and clasped his arm with both of his hands. “Nobody else thinks that. And Treville will set that fool straight.”

“How do we know no one else thinks that? No one else may have been brazen enough to speak up in such a manner but that does not mean they do not believe the same as he does.”

“Treville will handle it,” Porthos said again.

“You are putting a great deal of faith in him.”

“Don’t see any reason not to,” Porthos shrugged. “He’s back. He’s in command again. Seems alright in the head. We always trusted him before. Why shouldn’t we trust him now?”

“You are right, of course. But my... caution, it is not so easily cast away.”

“That’s okay. You keep right on being cautious if you want. Won’t hurt to keep everyone on their toes.”

“Hmm. I thought the talk with Treville went well enough,” Athos said after a moment.

“I suppose so,” Porthos agreed reluctantly.

“Porthos, we had already decided the post was yours. There was no changing that. You knew this.”

“I did, I just hate what it cost you.”

“It cost me nothing but some pride which I could stand to lose anyway. You are a good man and more than deserving. I am proud to consider you my commanding officer.”

“Bah. I ain’t your commanding officer,” Porthos spat, the very idea ludicrous to him.

“Yes, you are.”

“We’re the same rank now. Treville restored you to Lieutenant.”

“Yes, and for that I am grateful but the second in command outranks everyone save the Captain of the garrison. You are my commanding officer now and you need to accept that fact.”

“I’m not sure I want to,” Porthos admitted. 

“Why not?” Athos asked, puzzled.

“Because I don’t want it to change things.”

“Has it changed anything so far?”

“Well no, but...”

“You have been my commanding officer since the day Treville named you second. It changed nothing between any of us. It will not do so now. Though you may have to remind me at times that I am no longer the one in charge.”

“I can do that,” Porthos agreed though he hated the thought of it. Athos was a natural born leader. To take command was second nature to him. To deny him that right, even at his own insistence, still seemed cruel.

“So,” Athos said, hoping to change the subject. “How do you think d’Artagnan and Aramis are faring?”

“Depends on if the boy got up the nerve to talk to him or not,” Porthos said. 

“Talk to him?”

“About being his Master again. Aramis wants it. Needs it even. But I don’t think he can ask for it outright. I think the Whelp needs to come to him.”

“And you are not sure, after everything, d’Artagnan can do so,” Athos surmised.

“Yeah.”

“I think you are worrying too much. If he knows that Aramis needs this, that he is struggling, then he will do whatever he must to help him. He will not let this need go unmet.”

“What if the Whelp’s not ready to take that up again?” Porthos asked.

“Then he will get ready, for Aramis’ sake if nothing else. No matter how he may be acting, he never stopped being Aramis’ Master. Not when Aramis tore his collar from his throat and not since. He may not be acting the part but their bond is still there. He only needs to acknowledge it once more.”

“Maybe this time alone will give him a chance to figure that out,” Porthos said. He paused then and looked at Athos. The man looked tense, the morning’s events having taken a toll on him. Porthos thought he knew a way to fix that. After all, they weren’t expected back home for a few days yet.

“You are plotting something,” Athos said, eyeing Porthos.

“What say we adjourn to the upstairs and I take your mind off things for a couple hours?”

“That is not necessary,” Athos replied, grinning.

“Do I need to make it an order?” Porthos teased then paused unsure what Athos’ reaction might be.

Athos sucked in a breath at Porthos’ words. He felt a blush creep over him as his cock stirred in his breeches. Licking his lips, he met his brother’s eyes. “Perhaps... perhaps you should.”

“Well in that case, upstairs now, Lieutenant. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos replied, his mouth suddenly dry as he rose from the table and headed for the stairs. He didn’t hear Porthos following but did not look back. He had been given an order. He would follow it.

Upstairs, Athos stripped down until he was standing in nothing but his shirt and breeches. He had started in on the cuffs of his shirt when Porthos sauntered into the room. “Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” Porthos said with a leer. “Or do you spread your legs for all your commanding officers?”

“No, Sir,” Athos said blushing hotly. “I thought...”

“I didn’t bring you up here to think, Lieutenant. I brought you up here to see how well you can obey orders. I wanna see exactly how willing you are to submit to those above you. You ready to submit to me, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos replied, standing up straight even as his blush deepened. There was no mistaking the underlying meaning to Porthos’ words. His commanding officer meant for him to show his submission by servicing him. 

“Good lad,” Porthos said. “Now strip off the rest of that kit and let me get a look at you.”

Athos turned away from him and began taking off his clothes as ordered. He laid them neatly along the foot of the bed trying to ignore the fiery blush that ran down his face and neck into his chest. The fact that his cock was rock hard did not help matters any. 

“You waitin’ for some kinda invitation?” Porthos asked putting a touch of bite in his voice.

“No, Sir,” Athos said and turned back around to face him. He let his arms hang by his sides, not trying to cover himself. His commander obviously wanted to see him and Athos knew better than to deny him. 

“Well, part of you sure seems to be liking things,” Porthos laughed as he took a step forward and grabbed Athos by his straining cock. He stroked him up and down grinning at the way he swayed slightly.

“You can do better than that,” Porthos chided. “Attention!”

Athos moved at once, his hands going behind his back as he stood up straighter. He felt Porthos’, his commander’s, hand on his cock again and had to lock his knees to keep from moving.

“That’s better,” Porthos said. “I expect discipline, especially from a senior man like yourself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos said sharply. The feel of Porthos rough hand on his cock was torturous. His body wanted to push into the familiar feeling but he held himself still allowing his commander to do as he would.

Finally, Porthos released his cock and stepped back. He gave Athos a moment to gather himself before continuing. “On your knees, Lieutenant,” he ordered brusquely. 

“Yes, Sir,” Athos said as he slid to his knees, his hands still firmly clasped behind his back. 

“Here,” Porthos said pointing directly in front of him. 

Athos didn’t hesitate but walked slowly on his knees to where Porthos indicated. It left him directly in front of the man, his face level with his commander’s swollen groin. He felt his own cock give a jerk at the thought of what was to come. Being like this, on his knees servicing his commander at his whim, had humiliation rolling through him in waves. He had never allowed himself to be cowed like this. The only other man to even come close to such a thing was his d’Artagnan.

Porthos took a moment and looked down at Athos. He had not expected him to so willingly go along with him nor to fall into the role so deeply. He knew how proud a man Athos was. To submit did not come easily to him yet he was doing so now, for him. They might be playing a game but at the same time, they weren’t and both of them knew it.

“What is your command, Sir?” Athos asked when Porthos failed to say anything.

“Eager, huh?” Porthos chuckled. “I think I deserve a little relief after everything. Take my cock out and suck it, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos said, blushing again. He reached up and quickly undid Porthos’ breeches then pulled out his hard cock. He stared at it for a moment as if he’d never seen it before earning him another chuckle from the man above him.

“I know it’s a bit intimidating but a seasoned man like you should be able to handle it,” Porthos said. “Now get your mouth on me. Unless you intend to start disobeying now.”

“No, Sir,” Athos said at once. Taking a breath, he wrapped one hand around the base of Porthos’ cock and leaned forward. Opening his mouth, he took the head inside and held it there for a few seconds trying to adjust to the size of it. Knowing his commander was likely to grow impatient, he began to slowly inch his mouth downward, taking him in bit by bit. Soon he had taken him halfway in and began to clumsily bob his head.

Porthos stood there not doing anything as Athos sucked at his cock. It felt incredible. The heady mix of command along with Athos willing submission made his toes want to curl. Soon, he found himself sinking his hands into Athos’ hair and guiding him, pulling him down as he pressed his cock in deeper, giving him no choice but to take it. 

Athos tried not to choke when Porthos grabbed hold of his head and began fucking his mouth. He was pressing his cock in much deeper and he had to fight not to gag around it. He didn’t fight it, though. His commander had given him an order. He would obey it. Even as he knelt there, he felt his own cock, hard and leaking, bobbing between his legs and his face flamed anew. This might be at his commander’s order but there was no denying that he was enjoying it, too. That knowledge only served to humiliate him more and he squeezed his eyes shut as he concentrated on serving the other man.

Finally, Porthos used his grip on Athos’ hair to drag him off of his cock. “Not bad, Lieutenant,” he said. “But I think I want something else now.”

“Something else, Sir?” Athos panted.

“Crawl to the bed and lay your head and shoulders on it with your hands behind your back,” Porthos instructed.

“Sir...”

“There a problem?” Porthos asked surprised.

“I, that is, I’ve never... not with a man of your...,” Athos stammered, his blush turning his face bright red.

“You never been fucked by a man my size before. Is that it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos nodded, mortified.

“Then I guess this is your lucky day,” Porthos told him, making it clear that this was happening regardless of Athos’ misgivings.

“Sir...”

“You really want to get insolent now?”

“No, Sir,” Athos said resignedly and began to crawl on his knees toward the bed. There he laid his head and shoulders on it and crossed his hands behind his back and waited. 

Porthos thought he’d never seen a more captivating sight than Athos spread out and waiting for him. He considered binding him place but discarded it. He wanted him like this, giving himself over willingly. Snatching the oil from the bureau, he moved up behind him and kicked his knees wide apart before dropping down between them. 

Athos gave a start but he didn’t move out of position and that was good enough for Porthos. Oiling his fingers, he spread his cheeks and abruptly pushed two into him causing Athos to cry out loudly.

“Easy, Lieutenant. You can take it,” Porthos said as he began sawing his fingers in and out of his tight hole. 

Athos said nothing. His crossed hands were balled into tight fists as he fought to stay still and allow Porthos to do as he would. He could do this, he told himself. He could be obedient. He would show his commander just how good he could be for him.

“That’s it. Good lad,” Porthos said when he felt Athos start to relax around his fingers. Pulling them free, he slicked his cock and placed the head at Athos’ barely loosened hole. From the way Athos was acting he had a feeling he wanted it rough. That was fine with him. He wanted it rough, too.

Holding Athos by the hips, Porthos began to press inside of him. He stilled when the head of his cock first breeched him, enjoying the way the man moaned and shook from it. Then he was pressing forward again, forcing inch after inch of himself into the other man’s clasping hole. He didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside of him, Athos moaning constantly as his body tried to adjust to the intrusion.

“Nice and tight,” Porthos said. “You got an ass made for fucking, Lieutenant. Good thing I’m here to take care of it.”

“Y-y-yes, S-sir,” Athos stammered. Porthos felt huge like this, his cock making it hard to even breathe. Before he could say more, he felt Porthos’ hands tighten on his hips then that thick cock was dragging backward only to snap forward again pulling a ragged scream from his throat.

“Yeah,” Porthos said. “Nothing like breaking in a new Lieutenant. When I’m done with you you’ll know your place.” With that, Porthos drew back and thrust forward again pulling another scream from Athos. After that, he began fucking him in earnest, pounding into him, the man crying out with every thrust. 

All too soon, Porthos felt his bollocks drawing up. He knew his release was close and wanted to visit one final humiliation on his dear Lieutenant. Reaching beneath the man, he took hold of his cock that was still hard despite the pounding Porthos was giving him. Grinning, Porthos stroked him in time with his thrusts, determined to bring them off together. He could hear Athos moaning “no” as he stroked him and that only spurred him on. 

Picking up the pace, Porthos began to slam into him hard and fast, his hand all but flying over Athos’ prick. Suddenly, he felt Athos’ whole body go stiff then the man was crying out once more as his cock began to jerk in Porthos’ hand as he spent himself.

Athos felt humiliation threaten to swamp him as he spent in Porthos’ hand. It was bad enough to be allowing himself to be used like a whore but to enjoy it was something else altogether. Yet here he was, spending himself while his commanding officer fucked him raw. He did not know how he would ever look the man in the eyes again.

The knowledge that he had made Athos spend like this along with the feel of his tight hole clamping down on him even harder was enough to push Porthos over the edge as well. With a grunt, he slammed forward hard and began to spend filing Athos’ body with his seed. 

Once he was done, Porthos held himself inside of him for a bit longer then slowly slid free. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped back then looked down at Athos. The man still had his hands crossed behind his back as he panted, fine tremors running through him over and over. 

He gave him a few seconds respite then prodded him with his foot. “Clean me up,” Porthos ordered, curious to see if Athos would balk or do his best to finish the scene.

Athos heard his commander’s order and shuddered then forced himself up to his knees once more. He turned around slowly and crawled the short distance to the man. Looking up at him, he started to ask if he should fetch a basin when Porthos sank a hand in his hair and jerked his head back.

Before Athos knew what was happening, Porthos shoved his spent cock into his mouth and held it there. “Clean me up,” Porthos ordered again then released Athos’ hair.

Athos didn’t hesitate but began licking and sucking the cock in his mouth, removing any trace of oil and spend from it. He was relieved when Porthos withdrew it before it began to harden again, well aware that the man was capable of hardening a second time quite quickly.

“Not bad, Lieutenant Athos,” Porthos said as he stared down at him. “I just may have to keep you around. If you’re half as good in the field as you are elsewhere then you’ll be quite the asset.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now am I going to have any problems out of you?” Porthos asked as he stared down at his thoroughly debauched man.

“I believe there will be no problems with your command, Sir,” Athos panted, exhausted.


End file.
